The Witch and The Detective: The Game Begins Again
by the consulting werewolf
Summary: Second installment in The Witch and The Detective trilogy. Hermione Granger and Sherlock Holmes team up to face the greatest threats they ever met. Except this time the game has gotten more personal. Sherlock can handle the mundane but he needs Hermione to handle the magical.
1. Chapter 1

Wonderful timing. He had stopped Sherlock Holmes from leaving London. Time to start a new game. This game will be so much better than the last one. This game will be great. He might add magic to this. Just the thought of planning the next bit out gives him immense satisfaction.  
But this time the rules will be different. And Sherlock would get a dance partner. He picked up the file he has been provided anonymously (obviously) containing information about Hermione Granger. Well he had some rudimentary knowledge about her. After all she was the 'Brains' of The Golden Trio, who in the magical community did not know her? Then on the other hand he had Sherlock Holmes. A celebrity on his own right. Shivers run up his arm. This will be so exciting. Like hundred times more exciting. This time he would pull strings in both worlds.  
Last time was good, really good but this time it will be so much better. He smiles at the name flashing on the screen. Time to bring her back. He puts it to his ear and speaks into the speaker, "Darling Mari! Did you get the plane tickets I sent you?"  
A heavily accented voice replies, "Of course. I am dying to come there."  
He laughs at the barely concealed enthusiasm in her voice.

The plane touches ground. Hermione stands up and says, "I guess I ought to disapparate. It will be quite awkward explaining my presence here."  
Sherlock looks up and just nods. She disapparates with a loud crack. She decides to apparate back at The Burrow. Harry needs to know.  
As soon as the gate gets opened, Sherlock jumps to his feet, wondering what could have possibly happened to bring him back around. He goes down the stairs and sees the myriad expressions on John, Mary and Mycroft's faces. John looks worried, Mary looks confused and Mycroft looks annoyed. He asks Mycroft, "What?"  
Mycroft smirks, "No. It is a who."  
Sherlock frowns. Mycroft points him to get inside the car. He keenly watches his little brother's face as the video plays.  
Sherlock's frown deepens. How could Moriarty fake his death? He—oh, magic of course now that he could guess the connection between Moriarty and Zabini. He looks at his brother. He says, "I need to talk to you alone. Come by at 221B after an hour or so."  
John frowns. He feels as if he is missing something, "Sher-"  
"Go home John. I will see you later."  
John's face falls. He knows by now Sherlock is definitely hiding something from him. He feels Mary tugging at his sleeve. She whispers, "Let it be. He will tell you when he is ready."  
He nods and gives Sherlock one last disapproving nod as he leaves with Mary. Drama queen forever, he grumbles silently.  
"Now what brother mine?" Mycroft asks as he watches the Watsons leave.  
Sherlock says, "I need to contact Hermione."  
"Whatever for?"  
"I need her help."  
Mycroft's eyebrows rise up his forehead in surprise. His little brother hardly ever asks for help. He just orders people around. He allows himself a self-indulgent smile, "Okay. I will drop you then?"  
"No. I will take a taxi. I need to think."

Hermione apparates at the Burrow. The sun is starting to set. Her head right now is reeling. If the biggest psychopath in the Muggle world is really connected to the most ruthless killer in the magic world—she did not want to think of the consequences.  
She spots Harry standing at the Burrow's entrance. They make eye contact. He says nothing as he waits for Hermione to start explaining. She mutters, "Not now, later."  
Harry nods. He understands from the grim set of her face, she has something serious to say.  
Hermione trudges up the stairs. As she opens the door, a small warm body barrels into her and throws short arms around her. She looks down and a huge smile breaks on her face. It is Hugo. He looks up at her with a teary face, "Mum?"  
"Yes?" Hermione asks, her heart clenching at the thought that after tomorrow she would have to leave with Rose and Ron would leave with Hugo. Then this new threat hovering in the air makes her even more nervous.  
Hugo scrunches up his face and says, "Where were you? I missed you."  
Hermione kneels down and strokes his soft red hair, "I had work darling. But I am here now."  
"Can I sleep with you tonight?"  
"Of course! Where is Rose?"  
"She is in the kitchen with grandma."  
"I-", her phone starts ringing. It is Sherlock. Hugo's soft brown eyes, not unlike her own, with its silent pleading are at war with her conscience. She covers the phone with her hand and says, "I promise I will be back tonight. And we will read a story from Beedle the Bard."  
Hugo smiles and nods his head in agreement. Hermione takes the phone outside and answers the call. Sherlock says, "Hermione, I need you at 221B in an hour or so."  
Did he just say he needs her? She could hear the usual drone of traffic in the background. She asks, "Where are you?"  
"I-," he pauses, "I don't know."  
Hermione smiles. This odd man. "Okay. I will be there." She disconnects and goes on the search for Harry.  
She locates him in the backyard with George. Harry sees her marching up to him. He excuses himself and meets her halfway. He says, "You ready to talk?"  
"Yes. Let's take a walk."  
They start walking and Hermione starts speaking, "Do you know Blaise has escaped?"  
"Yes. The Minister informed me. He told the police were doing their best. He said the Aurors would take over if normal methods failed. So far I have received no new news."  
"Hmm. Have you heard of a James Moriarty?"  
"No. Why?"  
"James Moriarty is the most vicious criminal in the Muggle world and I doubt that he has connections with Blaise Zabini." With that Hermione told Harry her assumptions. She also informed Harry of the story between Sherlock and Moriarty, well, the bits and pieces she knew.  
Harry stops in his tracks. He almost whispers, "But how could he fake his death?"  
"Magic, Harry, if I am correct about Moriarty and Zabini knowing each other."  
"So if you are correct, then the two biggest threats in their respective worlds will come together and…hell I don't want to think what they can do."  
"Exactly." Hermione mutters under her breath.

Hermione arrives at 221B at the appointed hour. She is about to go up the stairs when she sees Mycroft Holmes descending down the stairs. She looks at him in surprise. He says, "Ah Miss Granger. My brother is not at his flat. I was hoping to check your flat."  
"Uh okay." Hermione turns around and walks to her flat. Sure enough, Sherlock is sitting there, cross-legged, reading what Hermione perceived is Pansy's notebook. He looks up and stands up. He says, "Good. Okay, would you begin or do I?"  
"I better, since it is my crazy idea," Hermione says with a shrug.  
Sherlock locks his gaze with her, "It is not looking so crazy. I found more entries, reminders to supply Blaise or Sebastian with potion ingredients from over two years ago as well. And the numerous mentions of Rich Brook. Pansy met him multiple times. She might have been a little enamored by him." He adds the last sentence with a dramatic eye roll.  
Mycroft snatches the notebook from Sherlock's hands and browses through. His face gets more crinkled as he turns each page. He finally exhales loudly and looks back at his brother, then at Hermione. He says slowly, "This is not good."  
Sherlock rolls his eyes again, "Yes. Thank you for stating the obvious."  
"Has the Minster of Magic been alerted?" he questions Hermione.  
Hermione replies, "I have updated Harry Potter. He will be relaying all information to the Minister."  
"Hmm. I need to go back to my office." Mycroft leaves.  
After Mycroft leaves, Hermione and Sherlock are still standing in their spots, awkwardly looking everywhere but at each other as the ghost of the kiss they shared hours ago in this same spot hovers around them.  
Hermione blush could have rivaled Ron's hair. What was she thinking when she kissed him? Well, he was not supposed to come back, so kissing him was in the heat of the moment. She did not regret kissing him though. It was nice, kissing him. Quite toe-curling. Yet, she thinks if people could die of embarrassment, she would be totally dead by now.  
Sherlock's cuffs got very interesting all of a sudden when he noticed the blush on her face rising neck up. He had kissed her back, what was he thinking? He does not do all that. Sentiment and kissing people. It was a moment of weakness that he does not want to reenact ever. Yet, he could not forget how her lips felt on his lips. He clears his throat, "I need to go call John."  
"Yeah. Sure. I got to get back to the Burrow. So uh, bye then." She disapparated without even taking a second glance at him. She decides to go freak about everything later.  
Sherlock stares at the spot she disappeared from. He shakes his head as if that would help him to think about the imminent threat instead of the funny thoughts he is entertaining about _her_.

**A/N. Hola! Here is the sequel! Oh and I have decided to make this into a trilogy, so this fic shall end in a cliffhanger, rest assured.**


	2. Chapter 2

Overnight, a secret meeting place was arranged. A place protected both by magic and human technology. Neither the Minister of Magic nor Mycroft Holmes was prepared to risk it. So here, now, at the entrance of a non-descript apartment in a non-descript area stood Hermione Granger and Sherlock Holmes. Hermione sees the glowing wards while Sherlock can see the biometric security system. They were waiting for the others—Harry Potter, Kingsley Shacklebott and Mycroft Holmes to arrive.  
Hermione leans against the wall as she sees Sherlock pacing frantically. She hears him grumble, "What is taking them so long?"  
"Sherlock, they will be here."  
"Where is Mycroft at? Hiding at a bakery shop?" Hermione sniggers.  
"I heard that," an annoyed voice makes it appearance. Hermione straightens up and Sherlock stops pacing. It is Mycroft. And he is not amused.  
Sherlock gives him a prize-winning scowl. Mycroft returns it. Hermione does an eye roll and says, loudly, "If you two are done by your juvenile tantrums, the rest of us would like to get to work."  
Sherlock stops, fuming inside that he would have to put up with his elder brother and actually work with him. Mycroft is just annoyed prematurely because he already has to tolerate his younger sibling so much, and now they are required to cooperate.  
Shacklebott removes the wards and the biometric system scans Mycroft's fingertips and eyes. The door whooshes open.  
The company enters into a sullen foyer with a long hallway at the left. Three doors dot along the corridor. Mycroft says, "This an off-the-book place. It is also used as a safe house."  
Sherlock staggers. This is why it was looking a little familiar. Hermione notices his behavior. She looks inquisitively at him, he just shakes his head.  
They walk down the carpeted floor and stop at the second door. Mycroft opens it with a flourish. Sherlock does another eye roll. Hermione whispers, "Keep rolling your eye at this rate and something might shake loose in that head of yours."  
"Rest assured Miss Granger I have been doing this for the last thirty years, or more. I haven't lost any piece yet," Sherlock whispers back with a lopsided grin. Hermione shakes her head with a grin of her own. Behind them, Harry, who had heard everything, too grins a little.  
The room is simple and almost clinical due to the harsh fluorescent light. A conference table, a few chairs, a desk pushed at one side and two windows with dark curtains. They take their seats. Shacklebott begins, "Jim Moriarty and his life had been explained to me by Mycroft Holmes himself and I have updated him about Blaise Zabini. But I'd like to hear about the views of the people who came in direct contact with these two men."  
Sherlock crosses his legs and rubs his lower lip. He squints down at Shacklebott, who does not miss that. He smiles, "Anything on your mind, Mr. Holmes the junior?"  
Hermione stifles a snort. She can safely assume that Sherlock hates to be called that when he goes stiff and throws another disdainful look at his elder brother. He says, "You did not introduce yourself."  
Shacklebott leans forward, amusement shining in his eyes. He had been acquainted with Mycroft's tactics already. He is eagerly looking forward to Sherlock's deduction as well. Hermione too sits back; she is well versed in the Holmes brothers' deductive skills as well.  
Sherlock takes one look. He, steeples his fingers and starts to speak, "A wizard like Mr. Potter and Miss Granger no doubt because no one wears blue velvet robes in normal human society. A person in higher post definitely, judging by how my brother chose to sit on your left side instead taking his place at the head of the table. But isn't that what he does…Anyway, I could safely say you must be really really important. Important enough for my brother to keep his mouth shut and let you talk." He smiles sweetly at his brother.  
Harry mutters, "Wicked."  
"Not entirely wicked Mr. Potter," Mycroft says, "Plain old observation."  
"He is just as smart as you," Shacklebott laughs. "Yes, I am really important Mr. Holmes; I am the Minister of Magic."  
Sherlock narrows his eyes, "Of course that is how my brother is involved."  
"Yes, I rather deal with your brother than the current prime minister. No offence."  
"None taken."  
Hermione clears her throat, "Umm sir? If we may?"  
"Yes yes, of course. They are quite fascinating aren't they?" Shacklebott asks Hermione with a grin.  
"Yes they are. They would have been burned at the stake if they existed centuries ago," Hermione comments cheekily, giving Sherlock a sideways glance. She wonders if he remembers the first time she said that. After her embarrassing escapade yesterday, she could hardly sleep at night, replaying her stupid impulsive act in her mind again and again. She is itching to know why he would kiss her back.  
Sherlock does remember and a smile creeps up his face at the first time she showed him magic. How far he has come from the (now destroyed) apartment in Mayfair.  
Harry says, "So we have started a Trace on Blaise Zabini but we haven't found anything so far."  
"Why not?" Mycroft asks.  
"I am thinking he must have changed wands or something."  
"How does this Trace work?" Sherlock asks.  
"Wands have cores, like mobile phone have GPS. You can trace a SIM card through that and sometimes wands can be tracked too. Usually a Trace is placed on an underage wizard, but these are special circumstances, do we have activated the old Trace on Zabini's wand."  
"It hasn't worked then?"  
"No." Harry turns to the minister, "Sir, I was hoping with your permission, if I could leak the news of Zabini's return to the public? Maybe that could help us?"  
"I don't know," Shacklebott says, "Let's wait a little before we send the magical community into a frenzy. I can't predict how the Pureblood communities will take this news."  
Harry nods. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at Hermione who mouths "later". No wonder he has a million questions about wands now.  
"Oh I also found a thing about Jim Moriarty," Harry says.  
Everybody sits up straight. Harry continues, "There was a powerful Pureblood family in Kilkenny, Ireland by the name of Moriarty. Artemis and Holly Moriarty had two sons, Sebastian Moriarty and James Moriarty. Sebastian did go to Hogwarts with us, except he was in his seventh year when we arrived. During the Second Wizarding War, he sided with Voldemort. His parents were dead already. He died too. Now about James," Harry pauses as his eyes lock with Hermione, they were both thinking if they had seen him or were anyway responsible for him dying. He starts, "I checked for the year of 1990 and before that as well as after that, there was no mention of James Moriarty anywhere."  
"James Moriarty could not have been a wizard," Sherlock says.  
"No he is not. I checked for all Wizarding schools in Europe."  
Hermione says, "That could only mean one thing."  
"He is a Squib," Shacklebott says.  
Both Holmes say, "Squib?"  
"A Squib is a person who is born into a magical family but has no powers," Hermione explains.  
"Like an opposite of Muggleborns," Sherlock says.  
Hermione proudly smiles at him, "Yes."  
"Then he could have a grudge with us as well," Harry says, "Especially if his brother was at Hogwarts during the battle."  
"I think he must," Sherlock says, "Why would Blaise take up the name Sebastian as an alias?"  
"Replacing the brother with a friend?" Hermione ventures.  
"Could be," Mycroft nods, "But where was he all this while? Before the British government got wind of him?"  
"Possibly taken away," Hermione answers, "A Squib in a Pureblood family is not very nicely taken, unless," she turns towards Harry, "How were the Moriartys?"  
"The Malfoys of Ireland," Harry says.  
Sherlock frowns. He did not quite get that reference. He looks at Hermione for answers, who is looking at Harry with a horrified expression. She says, "That would explain a lot." Harry just sadly nods.  
"A fairy tale villain then," Sherlock murmurs. Everybody looks at him. He explains, "He once told me that every story needs a good old-fashioned villain; and he is one now, isn't he? He has a tragic back-story, a mysterious death and a broadcasted resurrection."  
"You are making him sound like Voldemort now," Harry says with a sad smirk.  
Mycroft says, "We need to intensify our search then. I have decided to let Harry access to the search for Zabini. How is your American accent?"  
Harry frowns. He looks at Hermione, "Please tell me there is a charm for that."  
Hermione just sighs exasperatedly.

"So are you going back to your in-laws?" Sherlock asks Hermione. They are walking slowly on the promenade. The December winds were icy and making them shiver a bit.  
Hermione replies, while casting a heating charm over them, "Yes. My kids are still there. We were planning to spend our New Years there, but I think I will return by tonight with Rose. Or keep her there, I don't know. I can't party away in oblivion now."  
Sherlock notices he is not feeling the chill anymore. He asks, "Did you do something?"  
Hermione smiles, "A Heating Charm."  
"Cool," he smiles down at her. They stop as Sherlock decides to catch a cab here. He says, "What are cores?"  
"Patience grasshopper!" Hermione laughs. Sherlock turns to look down at her. This reference too, is lost on him. But he smiles anyway. She had her head down. A few brown strands had escaped from the maroon beanie she is wearing. They were curled, framing her pink cheeks. He thought to himself, she looked quite beautiful.  
She looks up. Looks like Sherlock is not into contemporary teen tragedies then. She notices the look on his face. That lopsided grin and amusement in his eyes. She gasps as she feels the air between them becomes more charged and hotter. She resists this urge to lean over and kiss his icy wind kissed cheeks. Would they be smooth and cold? A question, the question haunting her since last night, almost slips when he turns his back to her again.  
Sherlock had felt it. The sudden shift in the space between them. He had seen her gasp, she had felt it too. Maybe it was the spell. But a taunting, small voice in his brain mocked him. He would not have sucked in a large gasp of air if it was nothing. So he turned and got busy hailing a cab. And bless the Gods above; a taxi came rambling by a few seconds later. An escape finally.  
He hailed the cab down and as he started getting in, he turns around says, "Uh. See you later then?"  
"Yeah," Hermione says. She sees as he slams the door and the taxi speeds away. She stands on the sidewalk for awhile, chewing her lips. Looks like Sherlock did the "embarrassed escapade" this time. Are they going to run away embarrassed every time whenever left alone?  
Hermione shrugs her shoulders and starts walking, looking for an alley to apparate to the Burrow.

Night falls. Hermione prepares to leave the Burrow with Rose in tow for Baker Street.  
Meanwhile at Baker Street, the bell rings. Mrs. Hudson answers the ring. She opens the door. A handsome man smiles at her and says, "Delivery for Mrs. Hudson." A small package wrapped in brown paper rests in his hands.  
"Oh, yes that's me," Mrs. Hudson says, "But I didn't order anything or…"  
The rest remains unsaid as the man takes out a wooden stick and mumbles something. She takes the package and closes the door.

**A/N. I will send a cookie if you manage to spot the two other fandom references here. -.~**


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione watches Rose stomp to her bedroom. To leave the Burrow did not make Rose a happy little girl. She was severely disappointed that they had to leave. And on top of that her mother would not even explain to her why they left. "We need to", "I cannot explain now" where not cutting it for her. She is mad.  
Hermione knows her daughter is mad at her. She wishes she could explain things to Rose but she cannot. She follows her sheepishly. Rose stops in the middle of her bedroom and turns her back towards Hermione. Rose asks, "Do you hate daddy so much?"  
Hermione stumbles. This was the last thing she thought Rose would ask. She drops the bag she is carrying and walks in. She sits on top of Rose's bed and pats the space beside her, indicating Rose to sit down as well. Rose frowns but sits down anyway.  
Hermione says, "Rose, this has nothing do with your father. He is not, or his girlfriend, the reason why we had to leave."  
"So were you missing Sherlock?"  
Hermione nearly fell off the bed. She stares at her eight year old daughter with her mouth gaping open. She says, "What?"  
"You like him, right?"  
"And who told you that?"  
"No one," Rose looks down at her feet, "I just…"  
"No. No he is not why, I, I mean we had to leave," Hermione says and mentally agrees that _he_ is half of the reason why she is here, "Rose, it is a work thing."  
Rose gives her mother an incredulous look. Hermione continues, "It is of a dangerous variety love," she puts her arm around Rose's shoulders, "I feel safer if you are with me. If you are away, I would worry constantly."  
Rose sighs, "Okay, sorry."  
"It is okay. I love you."  
"I love you too."

Later, Hermione tucks Rose in. She is wondering if Sherlock is home or not. She decides to check anyway.  
She could do this tomorrow as well, she thinks, as she walks upstairs. She reaches the door and still is in a conflict. She wonders if she should knock or not when the door swings open.  
Sherlock had heard footsteps. He knew it was her. He waited her to knock or open the door. He frowned when she did neither. So he opened the door anyway. The looks on her face gave away her surprise and hesitation. She was standing here, hesitating. He can only wonder why. He shifts so she can enter, which she does.  
Hermione enters the room and since she is not quite prepared to look at him still, keeps her back to him and sits down on the sofa. She is thinking of something to say when she finally remembered something. She raises her head. He is standing by the mantel, frowning down on her. She says, "Today, at that place, you looked shocked when we entered the place. I mean, you nearly toppled over in surprise. Why? You had been there before?"  
Trust her to observe everything. He smile wryly and sits down in his grey chair. He turns to look at her, his face shining with amusement. Hermione narrows her eyes and stands up. She sits down opposite him, asking, "What? What is so funny?"  
"You see everything, don't you?" he asks in an annoyed voice but he is secretly impressed.  
She just smirks, "The place was familiar wasn't it?"  
"Yes," he stops, wondering if she required knowing. Then he realizes he has not told this bit of his life to anyone. Not even John knows. He takes a look at her. She has answered all her questions always. But being the sly fox that he is, he asks, "I will tell you why if you answer my question first."  
She sighs dramatically, "Okay." She kind of saw this coming.  
"Why were you horrified when Harry said that the Moriartys were the like the Malfoys?"  
She pulls up her feet and rests her chin on her knees. She says, "Remember how I said once how the Purebloods looked down on the Muggleborns?" He nods, she continues, "Well the Malfoys were one of the oldest Pureblood families and I went to school with Draco Malfoy. He was not always like this to me. But he wasn't the only Purebloods who went to school with me. There were others. And some of them hated us. During the time when Voldemort came back, the agenda against the Muggleborns took a dangerous turn," her voice chokes. If she closes her eyes, she can see the grotesque statue in the Ministry atrium still. She says, "Muggleborns were killed or imprisoned. That has stopped now, of course."  
Sherlock rubs his chin. She has her eyes down, the saddest expression on her face. She continues, "The Malfoys never liked Muggleborns either. Lucius Malfoy was responsible for a very terrible thing that happened in my second term at Hogwarts. He set loose a monster," she steals a look at his face. He was listening with rapt attention. "I was hurt too. But it was all okay later. Do you see why I was surprised? Now imagine a child, a child with no magic being born into a family for whom blood status was everything and they pride on their magic more than their children. I can only imagine how an eleven year old Moriarty must have felt when, after hearing so much about Hogwarts from everyone, he did not get a letter."  
He leans back and stretching his legs crosses his ankles. He stares at her. She looks up and smiles, "Now your turn."  
He sighs. He says, "You must have gone on Google after you met me right?" She startles. "Well you did," he laughs, "So you must know who Irene Adler is?" She nods, no use denying this. She did Google her as well. Impressive personality and extremely gorgeous to boot. He continues, "Well, she is not in USA." He stops, watching her reaction.  
Hermione gasps out loud, "What? But John wrote on his blog that she had been under witness protection in USA."  
"Well, that is what John let the world know. Mycroft told John that, John already knows that she was beheaded in Pakistan."  
She gasps again, "What? I—"  
"Except, she is not really dead."  
Okay, her head was reeling now. She puts down her feet and says, "What?"  
"I saved her," he admits in a tiny voice, simultaneously trying to ignore the fact that when she put her feet down on the rug, it touched his outstretched feet. She made no move to shift her feet, she is far too engrossed to realize that.  
She leans back, raises her eyebrow and says, "So, I know she was interested in you but you weren't and then the whole password thing and then she left. John and Mycroft know she is dead but you know she is alive. Why?"  
"Why what?"  
"Why would you save her? Did you like her?" she relishes the look on his face. Somewhere between shock and confusion. Not to forget this little itch scratching on her skin which could be jealousy? Mild jealously. She is not particularly dying to know why he would save the dominatrix. Nope, not really, she tells the bothersome thoughts in her head.  
Sherlock is at an odd here. He cannot explain why he saved Irene. He says instead, "You don't need to know." He looks sharply at her.  
She nods. Well. Maybe later. He continues, "She is not here in London anymore but we did make a stop at London after returning from Karachi. We stayed at a one of the rooms in that place. There is a back entrance. We were ushered in and out through there. However when the door was open I caught a glimpse of the carpeted corridor. That is why the place looked familiar."  
She nods again. Then a thought strikes like a bolt of lightning. She gasps, "Wait a minute, Mycroft knows she is alive? I mean he has to! I cannot imagine you doing anything without your brother knowing!"  
He nods and smiles. Her disbelief and shock is humorous to him. Also he is very impressed by her correct assumption. She says, "So all this while John has been in the dark, thinking that you were silently mourning her death." Mirth shines back in her eyes again. She says, "All that was a ruse. You saved her anyway."  
She pats herself mentally on the back for managing to keep off the jealous edge in her voice. She is bothered by the fact that she felt jealous. She had no right to. As if on cue, she finally realized her feet were touching his feet. An odd tingle managed to travel from her feet to her arms. She decides it is now or never. She will ask him. She says, "Sher—"  
He had seen her eyes dart down to their feet. He noted her feet felt too soft and small against his. Then she raised her head with determination etched across her face. He noticed she is flushing. Oh no. He quickly jumps to his feet and walks to the window. In a loud voice he asks, "So what about cores? I am curious to know."  
She frowns. She knows what he did. Well, he can win this round. Her time will come, she can patiently wait. She says, "Cores are what gives a wand power."  
He turns around, "Explain."  
"Well, wandlore is extremely complicated. But I can tell you what I know." She takes out her wand, "My first wand was made of vine wood and the core was dragon's heartstring. My second one has the same core, and same wood."  
"Dragons?" Sherlock nearly shouts.  
Hermione laughs. "Yes Sherlock there are dragons and every other magical creature you might have read about!"  
He scoffs, "Unicorns?"  
She nods and is satisfied at his surprise. He reins in his astonishment and says, "No. Continue."  
"So cores are what give a wand power. It connects the magic in wizards to the wand so they can wield it accordingly. It is personal on a level. For example, I can channel my magic better through dragon heartstrings, Harry is better with Phoenix feathers and Ron had unicorn hair, etc. etc. A wand chooses a wizard.  
"Blaise's wand core is, or was, unicorn hair. An underage wizard has a Trace on his or her wand. Underage magic is as serious as say, a cop catching an underage kid in this world with alcohol or drugs. But this Trace gets lifted when they are seventeen. So like everyone else, Blaise too had his Trace removed when he came of age. But the Ministry never really stops keeping track. For example, if a wizard or a witch casts an Unforgivable Curse, the Ministry will know. The Trace is no longer there but the Ministry can reactivate it under extraordinary circumstances."  
Sherlock listened with rapt attention. He says, "These are extraordinary circumstances. But Harry said something about the Trace not working if the wand was changed?"  
"Oh yes," she sighs, "Unfortunately, the Trace is placed on the wand not the wizard. Since we treasure our wands and live with it twenty four seven, we can be tracked. But if we discard our wands…"  
"It is useless," he says quietly and rubs his lips. She nods grimly.

Later, Hermione had left Sherlock to mull over all the new information. He dwelled much on the reveal of the existence of magical creatures though. Even though he did not say so, he did wish to see some of them.  
Next morning, both tenants—upstairs and downstairs—woke up to the shrill scream emanating from Mrs. Hudson's apartment. Since both of them had hardly slept last night, they hurried to Mrs. Hudson's apartment.  
Sherlock is the second to arrive. Hermione is already here, banging and shouting, "Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson? Open the door please!"  
The door finally opens to a scared and shaken Mrs. Hudson. She grabs Hermione by the arm and nearly faints. Sherlock rushes in to hold her. He asks, "What is it?"  
"A man—a body—," she says but Sherlock runs in anyway. Hermione gently leads her back inside and deposits her on the comfy couch in her foyer. She follows Sherlock who is standing in the middle of her dining-cum-kitchen area. She comes closer and nearly faints as well.  
On the floor lies the body of an unknown man with a ghastly bluish complexion and with eyes, bloodshot and nearly bulging out of their sockets. He looks to be in his early twenties and his dressed casually in denims and a plaid shirt. They hear a phone ring from the entrance but both are too busy staring down at the body.  
Suddenly Mrs. Hudson enters the area and hands the phone to Sherlock. Hermione notices the trance like expression on her face. Mrs. Hudson says, "For you." And then she turns around and leaves. Hermione decides to follow her to check on her wellbeing.  
Hermione follows her to the entrance again. She sees her picking up a brown package from underneath the couch. She rips it open and pulls out an ornate jade locket by the delicate silver chain the locket is hanging from.  
The alarm bells go off in Hermione's and before she could stop her, Mrs. Hudson touches the locket. She croaks and then she falls on the floor. Hermione rushes over and kneels down beside her. Using her wand she slowly levitates the locket from her loose grasp. She hears Sherlock enter. She turns around, "It is a cursed—"  
The look on his face stops her. He has paled and she could see the fear in his eyes. He extends the phone to her and says, "It is on speaker now."  
A crackling electronic voice says, "Well Sherlock is used the games I play but Miss Granger, welcome to my world. Now let's start shall we?"

**A/N. I am pretty sure Mycroft knew (and might have helped) about Sherlock saving Irene. I am pretty sure. -_-  
****I mean with Mycroft Holmes as a brother, how can anyone do anything secretly? Btw I relate as an elder sister because there is little my sister does without me knowing. .  
****FYI, the fandoms referenced in last chapter were the Artemis Fowl series by Eoin Colfer and The Fault In Our Stars by John Green. So a virtual choco chip cookie to everyone who guessed it! **


	4. Chapter 4

"Mobilicorpus," Hermione murmurs. Mrs. Hudson's unconscious body gets lifted and slowly levitates to the bedroom. Hermione plays the words Moriarty said to them five minutes before like a broken record in her head.  
"Here is what you two need to do. Sherlock has played this game before. Last time he had to solve cases so I do not blow up random strangers. But now that my secrets are out, I decided, hmm, why not I add some magic to this? So you can participate as well. I am nice that way. So here are the rules—Sherlock solves the mystery of the corpse while you find out what ails Hudson who is not their housekeeper," Moriarty pauses to laugh at his own joke, "If Sherlock solves it and you find out what is wrong with her, I let her have the antidote. Simple as that."  
Hermione gasped. Moriarty continued, "As to you Miss Granger, you have done this before. Like your heroic contributions during your second year. You have twenty four hours." The phone disconnected.  
Sherlock did not say anything after that as he whipped around and disappeared into the kitchen while Hermione took Mrs. Hudson to her bedroom.  
Hermione comes out and joins Sherlock in the kitchen. He says, "He was asphyxiated with a rope or a cord. And death might have occurred in the last eight to twelve hours. From his fingers I can say he was in some sort of work regarding construction. Plus there is some fine gray dust on his shirt which, while I haven't tested it out, might be cement."  
Hermione nods. She had pocketed the necklace after putting it in a clear sandwich bag. She brings it out and says, "This is a cursed object. When Mrs. Hudson touched it, it started working. Whatever spell she is under, it is deadly; otherwise Moriarty would not have said anything about an antidote. What it is though…" She shakes her head sadly.  
Sherlock says in a quiet voice, "Our work is set then."  
She makes eye contact with him. She grabs unto the sleeves of his robe and says, "Yes. We can figure this out, right?"  
He fears his own voice. He cannot deny he does not feel a bit apprehensive. He releases her tight grip on his robe with his finger and takes her hand. He says, confidently this time, "Yes, we can."

Hermione taps the bricks with her wand. She hopes she is in the right place. One day to find an unknown curse? Moriarty was as sick as they can possibly get. The bricks move and an entrance gets formed. Diagon Alley teemed with people already, this early in the morning. But her final destination is not Diagon Alley. It is the seedy alley beyond Diagon Alley. A place she shunned all her life. Except for that one time she spent spying on Malfoy. The heels of her boot clack on the stones as she treads towards Knockturn Alley. Oh how she hates this place. While working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she had strived to eradicate this place devoid of all dark objects and magic. But like a zit that never leaves, Borgin and Burkes still existed, despite her best efforts. And now she is going to drop in there, terrific.  
She pushes open the door with the tinkling of a bell. Her presence brings out a short man out from behind a dark curtain to the counter. He smiles, giving her a full frontal view of tobacco stained teeth. She looks around before making her way to the counter. After the Second Wizarding War, every possible object that emanated the foul doings of Death Eaters was destroyed. But everyone in-the-know knew that some things remained. For instance, Hermione recognized three illegal items on her journey to the counter.  
"Yes, what can I do for you miss?" the man asked.  
Hermione takes a gulp. She says, "Uh, do you have any books on cursed objects and dark curses?"  
The smile falls from the man's face in an instant. He says, "Sorry miss. After the war every book was confiscated—"  
"And destroyed," she whispers, cursing herself. She had absolutely forgotten that she was on that committee. Terrific.  
The man pretends not to hear it. He continues, "If miss really wants to know…" He helplessly puts his hands up and sighs.  
She narrows her eyes. Of course. She delves in her satchel and extracts a Galleon. She slaps it down on the counter. The man hurriedly pockets it and giving her a smile again says, "Miss can go over to Malfoy Manor if she wants to. I hears that there are still books there, of the kind miss wants."  
She snarls, "Impossible!"  
"Yes miss. There is. Mr. Malfoy wanted to sell me some," he puts a fist on his chest and says, "But I refused miss."  
She highly doubts that. She murmurs, "Okay. Thanks."  
She exits the shop with her heart heavy. She really does not want to visit Malfoy Manor because well for one she never hoped to enter that place after all these years and two, she would have to encounter Draco. But does she have any choice? Right now she will take any help she can probably get.  
With a heavy heart and a troubled conscience she sends a Patronus to Draco Malfoy.

The plan was to ensure Lestrade knew only what he needed to know. So now, when Lestrade crowds the room with his team in Mrs. Hudson's flat, Sherlock stands with John at a distance. He has told the same story to John and Lestrade.  
"Mrs. Hudson woke up to find this man lying on her floor, very dead. She fainted right away. As you all know what Moriarty did last time, this time to he called me and told me to solve this. I need to figure this out within twenty four hours."  
Lestrade wants to question Mrs. Hudson and John wants to check in on her. Sherlock vehemently says not to. So that leaves a very frustrated and confused DI Lestrade and John Watson.  
John follows Sherlock up to his flat. John finally speaks, "Where is Hermione?"  
That question throws off Sherlock a little. He mutters, "She left for work very early."  
John nods. He says, "So what now? Which bloke is strapped with Semtex?"  
"I don't know," Sherlock says.  
"He did not say?"  
"No."  
"What does he want?"  
Sherlock just shrugs. He has a mystery to solve now. He hears Lestrade's footsteps on the stairs.  
Lestrade walks in and says, "Okay we have found out who this bloke is. George Fortis. He works as a landscaper in Acton. He is twenty six years old and unmarried."  
Sherlock nods. He grabs his coat and beckons John to follow. When he is halfway out the door, he turns around and says, "Let me know the murder weapon."  
Lestrade shouts after Sherlock has made down the first flight of stairs, "You going to Acton then?"  
John answers instead, "I think so."  
Lestrade murmurs to himself, "How did the body get here then?"


	5. Chapter 5

The journey to Acton was not that very long. The sun is creeping slowly to the centre of the sky. Sherlock glances at his watch. Forty-three minutes had gone by. John and Sherlock walk towards a particular house on Shakespeare Road. It is a red brick, two storey house with a half done front yard. They spot a uniformed policeman talking to a couple in their mid-thirties. The man is tall and has an unremarkable face while his wife created quite a contrast beside him. She is very good-looking.  
Sherlock walks up to the policeman and announces loudly, "Hello did George Fortis work here?"  
The policeman stops and turns around with a scowl on his face, "And you must be Sherlock Homes. DI Lestrade called me already. I am Harold Murdoch." He extends his hand which Sherlock ignores.  
Sherlock looks at the couple in front of him. He says, "You must be Fortis's employers?"  
The woman speaks, "Yes." Sherlock notices the fear in her eyes.  
"And you are?" he directs towards the man.  
"Art Pembroke and this is my wife Lucy Pembroke," the man says with a glint in his eyes, "Listen, we know George is dead. But he did not die here neither were we friends that we would know anything personal about him. So if you gentlemen can excuse us, we like to leave."  
The Pembrokes turn around and enter the house. Lucy, however, throws a glance over her back to Sherlock. He does not miss that. He decides to come later. So he turns around and leaves with Murdoch on his tail.  
"So?" Murdoch asks.  
"So what?" Sherlock asks.  
"What do you think?"  
"What do they do for a living?"  
"Mr. Pembroke is a banker and Mrs. Pembroke is a teacher."  
Sherlock halts. He asks, "Banker?"  
"Yes."  
"What do they do when they aren't working?"  
"Art has a favourite pub, Pigeon Hole and Lucy stays home."  
Sherlock grins. He got his window. He takes Murdoch's hands and says, "Thank you. We'll be off now!"  
They leave the officer stammering.  
After a distance Sherlock tells John, "You go to the pub while I go back to their home."  
"What makes you think they will do as such? I mean they both have jobs," John says.  
"Oh no. No one is going to the bank or school."  
"What do you mean?"  
"They are both shaken. I can safely say they both took an off day."  
So it is decided that John would wait in the pub and be on the lookout for Art Pembroke to arrive while Sherlock would go over the Pembroke residence and interrogate Lucy Pembroke. Before splitting up, John softly asked, "Sherlock, you are hiding something, aren't you?"  
This question stumped Sherlock. However, he recovers and says, "I trust you to have patience that I will let you know when the time is right." John just nods.  
Sherlock takes a detour and wonders. He is currently waging a war with his own mind. One side tells him to let John know everything and the other side is telling him to not to tell John anything because it might be dangerous to him. To calm his conscience, he calls Hermione. She picks it up in three rings.  
"Hello?" she says a little breathlessly.  
Sherlock frowns, "Are you okay?"  
"Yes."  
"I think I know where this case is going,"  
"Good. So why did you call? Are you alright?"  
Her concern touches him. He smiles, "No no, I am okay. It is just I am wondering if we should tell John everything. About the magic and all."  
Silence. Finally a whoosh of air. "I think we should."  
"Okay. After this gets done."  
"Yes."  
The call gets disconnected. Sherlock is back at the Pembroke residence again. He strolls up to the porch and rings the bell. As expected, Lucy opens the door. She stumbles a bit. She mumbles, "My husband is not home—"  
Sherlock says, "I know. I want to talk to you."  
"I don't think I should. Art said—"  
"Yes yes I understand. Just one question, you were involved sexually or romantically with George right?"  
Lucy pales and nearly passes out. Her expression was enough to confirm his theory.

**Forty three minutes ago  
**Draco had arrived twenty minutes later after Hermione had sent a Patronus. To say her request surprised him would be an understatement. He just spent ten minutes wondering if he should go help her or not. At the end he did.  
So now they were standing in front of his manor. Draco looks at Hermione. He can only assume what she could be thinking.  
Apprehension. And an impending sense of horror. She cannot ever erase those memories. As if on cue the everlasting scar given by Bellatrix starts itching. Her right hand instinctively starts rubbing the place on her left hand over her full sleeve sweater.  
Draco sees that. He covers her right hand and it stops Hermione. She looks at him. He can see the terror pool in her eyes. His voice almost chokes when he says, "After Voldemort fell and father died, mother and I shut that room. With brick and mortar and magic."  
Hermione gives a tiny nod. She also becomes acutely aware of the fact that somehow she had entwined her fingers with his pale ones. She jerks her hand away and squaring her shoulders, takes a deep breath, "Okay, let's do this."  
"Even though what I am about to do is illegal," Draco complains.  
"Well whose fault is that?" Hermione argues.  
"Well." He opens the lock on the wrought iron gates with his wand. They start walking on the gravel path outlined on both sides with tall hedges. She gets a little shock when she realizes her memory of the manor does not match to what she is seeing. She remembers gray walls, but they had been repainted white with ivy trailing over one wing. She asks, "You renovated?"  
"Mother and Astoria did," he replies.  
"It is nice, it is different."  
They reach the entrance. Suddenly Hermione remembers, "Uh, your wife, she won't like my presence here…"  
"She is not here. We are going through a rough patch," he says bitterly.  
"Oh."  
The door swings open and an eight year old boy with blonde hair runs out and almost crashes into Draco. Hermione smiles, this must be his son.  
Draco hugs the boy and says, "Scorpius, say hello to Hermione, a friend."  
"Hello Her-her-Hermione," Scorpius says with some effort. It makes her grin as a certain Bulgarian Quidditch player comes to mind. She says, "Hello Scorpius."  
"Now Scor, go to grandma. Daddy has some work, okay?"  
His little face falls but he does as his father says. Hermione, with much amusement observes, "Daddy?"  
"I wanted this father-son relationship as different as the other father-son relationship."  
Hermione nods. "So where are the books?"  
Draco stops at the front of a door. He turns around, "In my father's library. Follow me please."  
He opens the door. Hermione sees a winding staircase leading up. She fathoms the library must be in the attic then. She follows Draco silently.  
At the end of the staircase is a staid ebony door with intricate carvings. She sees Draco mutter some words and wave his wand in a certain pattern. The door clicks open with a loud screech. A few years of dust swivels around making them both cough a little. She says, "Woah."  
"Sorry. The last time I came here was ten years ago," Draco says.  
"Awesome."  
They go in. Draco mutters, "Lumos." He finally finds the candles on one side and lights them up. Hermione too, walks by another side and lights the rest of the candles. The room gets illuminated and Hermione half feared she would glimpse Lucius's ghost appearing and chastise her for entering his library. Well, library is too strong a word. It is mainly a study surrounded by too many books. The candlelight feebly throws light upon a long dark table with comfy chairs. The room is hexagonal and every inch of the wall has bookshelf with books. In some other reality she would have enjoyed this place. She spots a fireplace with a century's worth of cobwebs. Seriously, she would have loved this place but now it scared her slightly.  
Draco looks at her and laughs, "I see the bookworm in you liking this place."  
Hermione laughs weakly, "But the sensible in me does not like this one bit."  
"Okay so what do you need?"  
"Books on cursed objects and the spells that one would put on them."  
He walks up to one bookshelf towering over ten feet and pointing at it, he says, "So this is the section for cursed objects and cursing objects. My father meticulously catalogued every book."  
She sighs. There were roughly sixty to seventy books on that shelf alone of varying thickness. She drops her satchel on the table. Draco notices the look on her face. He says, "I can help if you want. What are you looking for?"  
Hermione thinks for a few seconds. She brings out the clear plastic bag with the locket inside from her satchel and shows it to Draco. He takes it and asks, "So this is a cursed object?"  
"Yes."  
"Where did you get this?"  
"Uh, I think your former friend gave us this."  
Draco stumbles backwards as if physically wounded by her words. He extends the bag. She closes the gap between them and takes the bag from him. He drops his face into his left palm and says, "I am so sorry."  
Her heart swells with pity. She places a hand on his shoulder. He looks up. She says, "Look, I know it is not your fault. But I do understand why you feel guilty. So thank you for helping me."  
He smiles weakly. He finds himself thinking how beautiful she looked in the golden glow of the candles. He finds her hand again and takes it in his hand. He brings her hand up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. She gasps quietly. His intense gray gaze is on her now. She starts flushing a little. This cannot be happening. That was temporary insanity that drove her to kiss him during that party. But now he is giving her those bedroom eyes and worse of all, her heart is betraying her calm. He says huskily, "Thank you Hermione. You can trust me to help you, I promise."  
She gulps and nods. Before she could say anything else, he yanks her closer and firmly puts his lips on her. Her gasp gets lost in her throat when her body becomes a traitor and her hands wind in his platinum blonde hair. A voice in her mind does warn her but then his tongue lightly flicks over her lower lip and she does not really care anymore. The kiss gets intense.  
Then, however, her phone starts to ring. When that registers in her addled brain, she breaks the kiss and says weakly, "Uh, my phone."  
Draco looks as surprised as her and lets her entangle herself from his arms. She walks to the table with shaky legs and dredges up her phone from her satchel. It is Sherlock. Suddenly she feels guilty. Kissing both Sherlock and Draco in a span of three days was sheer insanity. She also feels bad for not checking in on Sherlock.  
"Hello?" she says a little breathlessly.

The conversation is not long but it does give her new things to think about. She disconnects and turns around, almost too scared to face Draco, who, very smartly had started searching for the appropriate books.  
"Uh Draco?" she asks.  
He sighs, "I know. Shall we put this behind us as well?"  
She notes the contempt in his voice. She frowns, "Yes. You are still married."  
"Married but not blind."  
She just shakes her head. She is not blind as well. The attraction that is the elephant in the room will forever be there. But she has work to do. So she joins Draco in collecting the right books. She glances at her watch. Roughly twenty three hours to go through all these books. Terrific.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucy breaks down in tears. Sherlock nearly frowns but does not. He awkwardly pats her shoulder. She moves to one side and lets him in. He walks in the living room. She follows him. He allows her to sit down. She says between sobs, "How did you know?"  
"Your husband's behavior and your unstable voice, plus the helpless gaze you gave me. It was obvious that his death had affected you. I fathomed then that you must have had an affair with him."  
Lucy says, "Yes. We did have an affair. I really liked him. But I don't think Art knew."  
"I—", his phone starts to ring. It is John. He picks it up, "Yes?"  
"Art came here about five minutes ago. But I was talking to the bartender before. Apparently for three nights in a row, Art has been talking to a dark skinned man with dark hair and an American accent. This man is unknown in this neighborhood. The bartender did not recognize him. But Art and this man would get into a booth and have long whispered talks."  
The pieces fell into place. Sherlock knows now. "John, you can leave the pub now. Meet me now in front of the Pembroke residence and tell Lestrade to arrest Art Pembroke on the charge of murdering George Fortis." He barely notices Lucy's gasp. He disconnects.  
"Art?" she asks in a weak voice.  
"Your husband knew and so did Blaise Zabini. It must have been some effort for him to find you and Art," he says the last part to himself mostly.  
"Who is Blaise Zabini?" Lucy asks.  
Sherlock stands up, "No one important." He walks out of the door. This part was far too easy. He stands on the edge of the Pembroke's property and wonders if Hermione is done or not. He sends a quick message.

Hermione's phone pings. So far, book one gave no clues. More thirty books to go. Draco looked immersed in his book. She picks up her phone. A message from Sherlock.  
Case solved. –SH  
She sighs, "Shit."  
Draco looks up from his book, "What?"  
"Sherlock has solved the case. It took him a little more than an hour, terrific."  
"So this involves him as well?"  
"Yes. Somebody's life is at stake."  
Draco goes silent. He picks up the clear plastic bag. Hermione shuts her book close and her eyes roves over her stack of books. Suddenly her eyes fall on a particular book that has a thickness of two bricks laid on top of each other. _Gemstones and Curses: I_ by M. A. Huddleston. She pulls it out and enthusiastically opens it. Draco sees the book in her hand and says, "That book has a second part." He searches his stack and finds the second part.  
After an hour of silent reading on both sides, Draco shouts, "Here! Jade and its properties!" He starts reading, "'Jade is a weaker semi-precious gem than amethyst or opal and the variety of curses that can be used on them is not that extensive. Although it is mainly used for healing purposes, it can also be cursed with dark curses that can do the opposite of healing. The number of curses one can use are not many but sufficient to injure (or kill) one's victim: the Withering Curse, the Crippling Curse, the Breathless Curse and the Bloodletting Curse."  
Hermione says, "We need to find out what each of those curses do."  
He nods and stands up. He walks over to another section of the bookshelf and finds three books on the subject. He brings them over. Hermione says, "Okay, note the time it takes of each curse to kill one person. That is what I need to know."  
After a few minutes of reading and scribbling, she says, "I found about the Crippling Curse and the Bloodletting Curse. The former takes an hour but does not kill and the latter takes effect in seconds and people die."  
Draco says, "Well, I found the other two. The Breathless Curse chokes people in seconds as well and the Withering Curse puts a person under a coma and it kills people in twenty four hours."  
Hermione shouts, "That is it!" She whips out her phone and calls Sherlock. She does not let him greet her or anything. She cries, "I found the curse!"  
"Good. Meet me at my flat in ten minutes then." He disconnects.  
She puts her phone back in her bag. Draco extends a piece of parchment towards her. He says, "The information about the curse."  
She takes it. She stands up and says, "Thank you Draco, thank you so much."  
"You know why I do this."  
She looks down at her feet as she whispers, "I know." She apparates.

Hermione apparates inside 221B, outside Sherlock's flat. He is here already. She goes inside and startles a little to see John there as well, scowling at her.  
Sherlock is at the table with his laptop open. He beckons her over. She leans over his shoulders. He has his website open. He says, "That is how I corresponded with him before." She wordlessly gives the parchment to him. He reads it and arches his eyebrow, she nods. He types out "Wife had a lover. Husband kills him. Your friend must have told him it was okay to kill his wife's lover. And the Withering Curse causes the body to fall under a coma and within twenty four hours death is imminent as bodily functions shut down one by one" in a flurry on his website's message box. He hits send. Then they wait.  
Sherlock sits at the table, finger steepled. Hermione paces back and forth. John frowns and wonders if they are going to have a lunch break.  
Fifteen minutes later a black owl taps on the window. Hermione races over and throws the window open. The owl extends a foot towards her. To it is tied a little brown pouch. She unties it and looking once at Sherlock, opens it. The bird flies away. If John is shocked at all this, he does not react, still waiting on Sherlock for the explanation.  
A vial filled with blue liquid falls on her palms. She runs out of the room and into Mrs. Hudson's flat. She is aware the men followed her. She gets inside the bedroom. Mrs. Hudson is still at the same state she left her in. Hermione empties the antidote down her mouth and waits.  
John, who was witnessing the entire thing, is still speechless. He cannot understand what is actually happening. His surprise only increases when, after a few seconds, Mrs. Hudson stirs and opens her eyes. She tries to sit up but Hermione does not let her. She says, "Oh dear. What happened?"  
"You fainted and hit your head pretty hard. John came to check you," Sherlock says. He gestures John do as such. He feels glad that Mrs. Hudson is okay. He also beckons Hermione to follow him. She soundlessly follows him as John sits down on the bed to check Mrs. Hudson's pulse.  
They are standing outside the flat. Sherlock finally says, "We need to tell John. Best friends don't lie to each other, right?"  
Hermione smiles softly and nods her head, "Yes."  
"Okay then."

After checking Mrs. Hudson and making a cup of tea for her, John leaves Mrs. Hudson's flat. He knows the other two are probably in Sherlock's flat. Boy, they have a lot to answer him.  
He walks in Sherlock's flat and is not surprised to see Sherlock in his gray chair and Hermione sitting on the sofa, both with a grim face.  
"Well John," Sherlock says, "I know you have questions."  
"No shit Sherlock," John grumbles.


	7. Chapter 7

"I understand why you told Lestrade to arrest Pembroke. You answered that question in the cab itself. But what I don't understand is what just happened now. The owl, that vial and then Mrs. Hudson's recovery. Also, what does Hermione have to do with anything?" John asks.  
"Everything," Sherlock replies. He nods his head at Hermione. She stands up and brings out her wand. John nearly keels over. He has seen that thing before, at Lestrade's office. He looks at Sherlock once, a question on his lips, but Sherlock puts a finger on his lips, to gesture at John to remain quiet.  
"John, I am a witch," Hermione says and with that she casts a Patronus. John sees everything in shocked silence as a silvery white wisp starts coming out of the wand and soon forms the shape of an otter, which merrily bounces around the room.  
"I don't understand," John murmurs.  
Then Hermione, assisted with timely inputs from Sherlock, starts at the very beginning. From Pansy's death to the curse on Mrs. Hudson. John listens to everything without saying anything. His head is reeling. He is half curious and half angry. Curious because he can hardly believe anything, and angry at Sherlock for not confiding in him. After Hermione is finished, he takes time to glare at Sherlock and her.  
"So you two decided not to tell me anything," John says, his voice harsh.  
"We did not think it was going to become so," Hermione waves her hand, "So connected. When I sought his help, I was sure it was a simple case. A witch killed mysteriously. That Sebastian Moran will be Blaise Zabini, or Pansy knew Moriarty—no one, in any way, thought that everything would come back to Moriarty. So now, it involves him and me. And you, as well."  
John crosses his arms and grinds his teeth. He throws another angry glance at Sherlock, who is looking very embarrassed indeed. Hermione sees that exchange. She speaks, "And Sherlock did not involve you before because of this very reason. It was supposed to be an open-shut case. But it is now no more like that."  
Hermione sees her pleas were falling on deaf ears. John is disappointed, she could tell. After going through so much together, he had every right to feel betrayed. Finally, John says under his breath, "Just like three years ago." Sherlock raises his head at that comment. Hermione can see the hurt reflecting in his eyes. John stomps towards the door and wrenching the door open, says, "Happy New Year in advance." He leaves, his angry footsteps a loud bang on the stairs.  
Sherlock stands up, ready to follow John, when Hermione stops him by grabbing his forearm. She says softly, "No. Let him stew. I am pretty sure, sooner or later, he will come here himself and forgive us. If you follow him, you will only make him angrier."  
Sherlock nods. Hermione asks, "What did John mean, by that. I mean, by what he just said right now. You looked…hurt."  
Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, "If you did look me up on Google, you would know that John knew nothing of my fake suicide plans. Still now, he sees that as a major breach of trust. This time too, he is the last to know."  
"Well, I understand," she says quietly.  
Suddenly, Hermione's stomach makes a noise. Sherlock arches an eyebrow. She covers her stomach and smiles, "Gosh, I am hungry." She turns to Sherlock and says, "Do you want some lunch or are you not going to let digestion hamper your deduction?"  
Sherlock pauses to think what to do when an idea creeps into Hermione's head. She smiles, "Anyway, I was thinking of going to the Burrow for lunch. Then I could pick up Rose from there. Also, would you like to see how a wizard abode looks like?"  
The question is enough to grab the Belstaf and follow Hermione to the Burrow.

They apparate near the field. Hermione beckons Sherlock to follow her. When they arrive at the clearing, the house in front of him, with its bulging wings and crooked structure, truly leaves him speechless.  
Hermione secretly takes pleasure at his gobsmacked expression. He mutters, "How is that building not falling?"  
"What if I say, magic?" Hermione smirks.  
"It is...really something," he gives her a real smile that nearly knock her off her feet. She did not believe smiles were infectious, but his smile triggers her to grin at him. So she takes his hands and drags him along.  
He lets her drag him to the entrance were he sees a red haired woman busy waving her wand at the wall. Hermione shouts, "Hello Mrs. Weasley!"  
Molly turns around and rushes over to greet Hermione. She hugs her and then finally she notices Sherlock there, standing and gaping at the grass at his feet because he thought he just saw an ankle high person run across. Molly chuckles, "Gnomes! They are so difficult to get rid off! But I don't—"  
"Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. He uh, he is a Muggle," Hermione says.  
"Oh! Welcome dear! I am Molly," Molly pulls him into a hug as well. Sherlock, who is lukewarm to physical contact, is surprised she would hug him, a stranger. She pulls away and nearly drags him inside the house, speaking all the time, "Sorry if things are a little odd dear! You must be used to some form of magic at least. Also sorry, my sons aren't here. But not so sorry that my husband is not here, he would have nearly drove you out with his questions! That man with his Muggle obsession! But you must meet my daughter, Ginny. Ginny, we have a guest!"  
He had thought the hospital was strange, but this house came close to second place. Molly drags him to the kitchen where a pot is on stove being stirred by a spoon, on its own. He also spots a scrubber cleaning dirty dishes on the sink. If everything surprised him, he reins it in. but Hermione sees his amusement shining in his blue-green eyes. Another red haired woman emerged. But he knew her. She had come over to help Hermione move to 221C.  
Ginny halts, she narrows her eyes, "Oh, I know him, it is Sherlock Holmes." Then she flicks her hair and goes over to hug Hermione. She whispers in Hermione's ear, "He looks hot."  
A giggle erupts anyway, Hermione cannot stop it. She peeps at Sherlock. Yes, he did look nice. Something about men in black shirts…Sherlock looks at her. She shakes her head. Ginny pulls away and says, "I will bring Rose down."  
Molly ushers them both to the dining table. She sets cutlery and before Sherlock could protest, there is an enormous amount of food on his plate as well. Hermione presses her lips to prevent from guffawing out loud.  
Sherlock looks down on his plate. The food looks good enough. There is grilled fish and mashed green peas with mint. Molly also set down a basket of bread. She smiles at Sherlock, "I hope you like it dear. It was such short notice. Hermione did not say anything about a guest." She looks at Hermione disapprovingly. Hermione only helplessly smiles.  
Molly reminded him a bit of his own mother. So for the first time in his life, he decides to be the polite man his mother (tried to) raise him as, and starts eating. Hermione nearly drops her own spoon in surprise. She wishes she had a camera. She leans closer and mutters, "Someone ought to make a video of this, you eating."  
Shoving a forkful of peas, Sherlock grumbles, "Shuddup."  
Hermione doubles over the table in laughter.

The sun is almost setting when Hermione uses the floo network to 221C (Sherlock was dying to know how that worked). The afternoon was well spent with Rose showing Sherlock around and Ginny nearly toppling over when Hermione confided in her about kissing Sherlock ("Ooo how was it?" "What happened then?") and Draco ("What? Again? Are you insane?" "Was it good?" "What now?"). Hermione was half contemplating to stun Ginny so she could make her stop.  
They arrive at 221C, covered in ash and wheezing. Hermione mutters a quick spell and all the ash disappears over all their clothes.  
Sherlock steps out of the fireplace and says, "So Apparation and this. What else is there?"  
"Brooms and dragons," Hermione says, "Also Hippogriffs, if you can tame one."  
"Hippogriffs?"  
Hermione just smiles and saunters up to her bookcase and brings out the book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. She gives the book to Sherlock, who takes it and deposits himself on her sofa once again. Rose, too, goes and sits down beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

Pick. Stop. Drop. It was easy. He is impressed with her. Obviously children tend to trust her more. She does not tower over six feet or have a real creepy smile. Petite and cute with shiny blonde hair are the perfect kind of females you can use to do anything. Including charm eight year olds.

Three days. Three days they spent on the edge. Hermione had chewed half of her nails and Sherlock cannot remember the last time he slept, even though Hermione and John kept reminding him. Then Sherlock remembers on the second day of waiting for Moriarty, and the proverbial other shoe to drop, that he finally slept, with aid from Hermione and her great potion-making skills. John approved.  
John Watson had finally come around when he decides to drop in the evening of the second day to find shrill music, Sherlock on a caffeine high and Hermione standing in the middle of the room with a stormy expression. John walks in, all ready to give his speech of forgiveness, when Hermione very angrily says, "Your friend is seconds away from me strangling him."  
John halts. He looks confused (but not surprised). Hermione explains, "He hasn't slept for two days. I know. I can hear him pacing. It is immensely annoying. Then the bad kind of violin playing that he is doing now, the same dang tune over and over and OVER, that can wake an Inferi. He is doing this so he won't have to listen to me! I want him to sleep, so I can sleep as well. Plus I worry. I don't know how he survives without food and sleep. Do something!"  
John mutters, "Trust me, nothing works."  
Then Hermione realizes the possible reasons why John is here. He is definitely not here for the musical performance Sherlock is giving. He coughs, "I think you can help."  
Hermione crooks an eyebrow. He continues, "Just do something, with magic? Is that possible? Can you do it?"  
"Ah yes!" with that Hermione runs downstairs. She gets into her apartment and throws open her trunk of potion ingredients. As an ex-Auror, she would keep all basic type of potions with her. And she made all her potions, never trusted anybody else to make them for her.  
John follows her downstairs, eager to see what she was doing. He enters the kitchen to see her setting a cauldron on her gas stove and waving her wand to get the fire started. He comes closer and asks, "What are you doing?"  
"I am making a Sleeping Draught," she says.  
John notices the myriad ingredients piled on the counter. He only recognizes the lavender and valerian sprigs. The rest looked like Hollywood props. He asks, "What are these?"  
Hermione says, "Lavender, standard ingredient, Sopophorous beans, asphodel, nettle, Flobberworm mucus and valerian. I was surprised I still had the right ingredients! Well, it is a good thing I went ingredient shopping last week!"  
John stands back as the witch crushed, cut, threw and brewed things. A few minutes later it is done.  
She pours the clear liquid from the cauldron into a mug. Then she mutters something under her breath and soon the clear liquid becomes brown and starts smelling like coffee.  
She says, triumphantly, "There done!"  
Before John could finish forming a sentence in his head, she is halfway out of the door.  
Then they both went upstairs and to their relief, Sherlock had stopped playing. Now he is pacing. Hermione walks up to him, and sweetly says, "Coffee Sherlock?"  
Sherlock narrows his eyes at him, "Why are you giving me coffee? I thought you wanted me to sleep."  
"It is a calming draught. I know you have been jumpy and on edge. So I made this, it will help you think better! I put the potion in coffee because calming draughts aren't tasty." The cheer with which she tells this lie made her feel a wee bit guilty because she knew in this area Sherlock would trust her. Yes, it is sneaky, and maybe he will be furious. But she brushes it away. This is definitely for the greater good. John just mentally salutes Hermione.  
So, long story short, Sherlock trusts Hermione and drinks the Sleeping Draught, and promptly falls asleep. It gives her peace for eight hours and also ensures she and John could talk about everything that had happened a couple of days ago.

"So what exactly did you do?" John asks, as Hermione hands him the cup of tea. They are seated in her apartment.  
Hermione chuckles, "A Sleeping Draught. He will be deeply sleeping. I expect him to wake up in eight hours or so."  
"Well, I wish I knew you before!" John grins, "My life would have been easier."  
"Was he really that horrible a roommate?"  
"Oh, you have no idea. Sometimes I resisted the urge to punch him."  
Hermione laughs. John says, "You two could have told me all this before."  
"I know. It is just, we could not find the right time to tell you anything. Sherlock did not enjoy keeping secrets, nor did I."  
"I understand that now. I am sorry for being mad."  
"That is okay, really."  
"So, a witch."  
"Yeah. Pretty cool, it is."  
"I had no idea."  
"Well, in all fairness, you are not supposed to have any idea."  
Then John remembered something. "But you were sent by Mycroft, weren't you?"  
"Yeah. Mycroft Holmes knows."  
"Why am I not surprised?"  
That gets Hermione laughing. "The Holmes brothers are a real piece of work, aren't they?"  
John laughs, "You won't believe what happened when I met Mycroft Holmes for the first time."  
Two cups later, one and a half hours later, Hermione found herself greatly admiring and respecting John.  
He sipped his tea. "I guess I will swing by tomorrow to check up on him."  
She scrunches up her face, "Oh my, he won't be happy."  
"I will stand by you," he clinks his cup with hers and laughs. She laughs along with him.  
Yes, John Watson and Hermione Granger can learn to be friends.

To say Sherlock is a ray of sunshine when he wakes up somewhere after midnight, would be highly inaccurate.  
Sherlock wakes up, totally confused at first how he ended up in his bedroom, when he was definitely in the living room…and Hermione gave him something to drink. He tears the covers off of him and jumps out of bed, all ready to drown Hermione in his fury. And John, he was there too!  
He stomps out of his apartment and down the stairs. He puts all his pent up fury as he nearly knocks down Hermione's door.  
Hermione is curled under her covers, completely oblivious to the world around her when she rudely awakened by loud bangs. She sits up, trying to register what is that sound. Then she realizes it is someone knocking her door.  
She walks to the door. If she was fully awake and in her senses, she would knew who was knocking and would have never opened the door. But in her half-asleep state, she opens the door.  
Sherlock was all prepared with his tirade. He was bent on smiting her for her sneaky trick. But as soon as she opened her door, in her tattered tee, faded pajamas, messy hair and dark circles under her eyes, he quite forgot what to say. She just looked so tired. So he muttered, "Did you do something?"  
"Something?" Hermione mumbles. Her eyelids are battling to remain opened.  
"Never mind," he says and turns around. He hears her shutting the door.  
He gets back in his bedroom and lies down. He does not fall asleep or anything. He is fighting with his inner voice. While he thinks he understands why she did that. After all her bedroom is directly under the living room and he can only imagine how his furious pacing had her awake and restless. But on the other hand, the mocking voice says the only reason he is not yet chastising her for pulling that trick on him because he found her endearing when she is all groggy and half awake.  
"Shut up!" he shouts aloud to an empty room.

Next morning, Hermione goes to pick up Rose from school when she sees John entering 221B. She smiles, "Hello John!"  
"Hey! So did Sherlock try to murder you yet?" John says.  
"Surprisingly no. But I think he came to my apartment last night. I cannot remember though."  
"Well I will go see what he is up to."  
They say their goodbyes and John goes upstairs. He sees Sherlock typing away on his laptop. John asks, "So you are not angry with Hermione?"  
"I don't know," Sherlock replies.  
John gets a little confused. But then he gets why. A slow smile creeps on his face. He says, "Oh yes, I forgot your weakness for attractive brunettes."  
Sherlock narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to retaliate when a knocking sound comes from behind him. He turns around. It is a black owl. He frowns. He has seen this owl before. He stands up and throws open the window. Like before, the owl silently stretches its legs which has a scrap of parchment tied to it. He unties it and the owl flies away.  
John asks, " Isn't that the owl which came three days ago?"  
"Yes." Sherlock mutters as he unrolls the parchment.  
He does not quiet understands what is written. Then he is distracted by his phone ringing. He picks it off the table. It is Hermione. Before he can say anything, she cries, "Sherlock, Rose isn't here! Someone took her!" She starts sobbing.  
Sherlock reads the words written in black ink again. He says, dread settling, "Hermione, come home now."


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione wrenches the door open. Her hair is messy and there are dried tears on her cheeks. She looks at Sherlock and walking up to him, says, "Sherlock?" like a prayer, hoping he could answer all her questions, tell her everything is fine.  
Sherlock says nothing as he gives her the parchment. She reads it aloud, "Dark and secret in the beginning. Sweet and happy in the ending. Lightning found the way. A Rose gently fades away." Another sob escapes when with trembling hands, she whispers, "Sherlock what is the meaning of this?"  
"I don't know Hermione," he sighs, "But I am sure this involves Rose." She finally breaks down and her knees almost give away. He catches her before she hits the floor.  
Hermione just wants to fall, and curl up on the floor and cry. Rose, he took her Rose. She feels numb all over. She sways, ready to fall when she feels arms catch her and pull her up. She does not need to look up to know who caught her. She sniffs into Sherlock's chest, "I will kill him. Sherlock, I will kill him if something happens to Rose."  
He strokes her back and says, "Nothing will happen to her, I promise."  
John does not disturb them. He picks up the parchment that had slipped out of Hermione's fingers. He reads it, but he still cannot make sense of it.  
Hermione finally becomes aware that she is pressed against Sherlock and her tears have probably ruined his shirt. She pulls back and says, "Sorry. I—"  
"It is okay," he moves back a little and takes the note from John's hands. Hermione notices John for the first time. She mutters, "Oh, I didn't see you there John!"  
"That's all right," John reassures.  
Sherlock walks over to the window and reads the riddle again. Suddenly he whips around and asks, "What could lightning mean?" To him, this word was giving the most trouble. Like he could not dredge out the meaning or importance of the word out of his mind palace.  
Hermione gets closer to him and reads the riddle again over his shoulders. Before she can say anything, another owl arrives. This one is considerably smaller than the black one. It is brown in colour and much more excited than the black one, who is solemn. It whizzes in and flies around the room haphazardly before John catches it.  
John, as he had seen Hermione and Sherlock do it, unties the red envelope from the bird's leg. Hermione says, "It is a Howler." She quickly casts a silencing charm, so whatever the Howler had to say will not filter outside.  
"What's a Howler?" John asks. Before he can get an answer, the envelope whizzes out of his hands and it changes shape. The two flaps become a grotesque imitation of lips. Then it splits and a hollow, husky voice fills the room.  
"Hello Hermione. And Sherlock. As you may have noticed, someone very dear to both of you is missing. You have twenty four hours." Then the envelope incinerates and disappears in ashes.  
Hermione lifts the charm. Horror finally sets in. She starts shaking all over. Sherlock notices it. He coaxes her to sit down and he nods his head to John, who goes into the kitchen.  
Sherlock sits down in front of her, on his knees and says, "We will find her."  
"Twenty four hours?" she sobs, "How will we do that? Oh Merlin!" She covers her face and starts crying.  
Sherlock hates to see her like this. She is a mother first, he understands that but she needs to become the brilliant witch she has proven herself to be, over and over again. He pulls her hands from her face. He cups her cheek and says, firmly, "Hermione Granger, you need to keep a clear head. I know, your emotions are messing with your head but you need to get a grip."  
Her lips tremble. He is right. She sits up straighter and says, "Yes, you are right. Crying won't solve a thing. It won't bring Rose back." Finally she realises his hand is on her face and she leans into it. Right now, his calloused, cool hand gave her comfort. She locks her gaze with him and silently tries to show her gratitude for him being here, helping her.  
Sherlock softly strokes her cheek and notes that her skin is as soft as he once thought to be. Before that stray thought could send him into panic mode, John comes back from the kitchen, tea in hand and says, "Hermione, tea?"  
That is it. Moment gone. Sherlock removes his hand and stands up too quickly while Hermione clears her throat and smiles at John, "Yes, please. Thank you." She takes the cup.  
John smiles. He had seen that. It was touching. He spots Sherlock over at the window again, riddle in hand.  
Hermione says, "Sherlock? Can you give me that?"  
Sherlock wordlessly hands it over. She takes it and muttering the duplicating charm, gives the original back to him. Then she says, "Here, we have three halves of it. We can each study it and come up with solutions."  
Sherlock almost smiles. His witch is back.

An hour passed before John puts his hands up in the air and cries, "He is a monster! First he kidnaps a little girl then he sends stupid riddles! I will personally ensure he really dies this time!"  
Hermione crooks an eyebrow at John, "For a doctor, you are quite violent."  
"I was a soldier too," he grumbles.  
She smiles. She turns to the riddle on the table and sighs, "I hate riddles. Harry was quite good at them." She rubs her forehead.  
Suddenly, Sherlock stands up from his chair. He says, "Harry! Lightning! Harry!" He looks at Hermione, all excited.  
She frowns. She looks down at the riddle again. "Oh my...yes. Lightning. That could very well mean Harry's scar!"  
"Yes! Maybe the answer is in what he did!"  
She hurriedly grabs her purse and pulling out her cell phone, calls her best friend. Harry picks up in four rings.  
"Hello Hermione," he says.  
Hermione could hardly hear over the background noises. Seemed like two people shouting. She says, "Harry I need your help. Can you come over to 221B Baker Street? It is really urgent. It is about Rose."  
"Okay, I will be there in ten." He disconnects.  
Hermione says, "He will be here soon."  
She sits down back on the chair again. She starts playing with a bracelet on her hand. Sherlock notices that. He says, "That is handmade."  
Hermione startles, "Yeah it is. Rose made it for me this birthday."  
"Oh."  
"When was your birthday?" John asks.  
"September nineteenth," Hermione replies.  
"How old are you?" Sherlock asks.  
"Don't you know it is rude to ask a woman's age?" Hermione grins, "When is your birthday?"  
"Tomorrow, in fact," John answers.  
Hermione says, "Oh! How old will you be?"  
Sherlock leans back in his seat, "Why don't you guess?"  
"Hmm," she hums, "I'd say somewhere in your early to mid –thirties."  
John laughs, "Yeah. Birthday boy turns thirty five tomorrow."  
Hermione laughs, "That makes me five months older than you."  
Sherlock arches one eyebrow, "We are the same age?"  
"Yup."  
Then they hear loud cracks outside the door. Hermione leaves her seat and opens the door at the first knock. She opens the door to find Harry and Ron standing outside. Damn it.  
Hermione does not how to feel right now. She moves aside to let them in. She prays no more punches and bleeding noses.  
Sherlock is not happy at Ron's presence. Harry realises that from one look at Sherlock's face. He wonders why. He explains, "Ron was over at my place, fighting with Ginny when Hermione called. He asked and I answered that it concerned Rose. So he wanted to come."  
Hermione says, "That is okay." She cannot send him away. Whatever the antagonisms they shared, Rose is their daughter and she is kind of grateful he is here. She smiles at Ron, who smiles back, with a storm brewing behind his blue eyes. Hermione gulps—she remembers very well the last time Sherlock and Ron met. She fervently prays no more snarky comments from the brunette and no more flying fists from the redhead. Ron says, "So, what is wrong?"  
Hermione says, "Someone took Rose and wants us to find her." With that she hands over the parchment. Then she says, "Uh, Harry and Ron, meet Dr. John Watson, Sherlock's friend."  
The two friends nod at John. Harry reads the riddle. Ron too reads it, leaning over Harry's shoulder. He comments, "Did the lightning remind you of Harry?"  
Hermione nods, "Sherlock thought of it first."  
Ron takes the parchment from Harry. He murmurs, ""Lightning found the way"? "The way"? Could it be talking about the secret ways you found using the Marauders Map?"  
A switch flips on Hermione's brain. She grabs Ron by his cheek and shouts, "Ron, you're brilliant!" She turns to Harry, "Try to think, what passage Blaise or Moriarty could be talking about?"  
"Blaise? Moriarty?" Ron asks.  
Hermione waves him away. Harry rubs his chin, concentrating hard. Dark and secret—well every secret passage is always dark. But sweet in the ending? What could that possibly...  
"Oh my God, I know where Rose is," Harry says.


	10. Chapter 10

"Never again," John gasps as he doubles over his knees, trying to breathe. John Watson has just experienced what wizards call "apparate". He is not very happy.  
It was decided at 221B that Harry would apparate with John while Hermione would apparate with Sherlock and Ron would apparate alone. John had no idea what that meant. But he got his answer when Harry grabbed his shoulder and suddenly he was in suspension, being squeezed through something narrow, and then he was standing in a little village bathed in cold January late afternoon sunshine. He is really glad that his feet were once again touching solid ground. And he is also thankful to the Gods above that he had not heaved out his breakfast on Harry's shoes.  
Harry pats his back and says, "Sorry. I forgot it would be a brand new experience for you. I should have warned you to hold your breath. I am so sorry."  
John straightens up and glares a little. But he manages a semi polite, "You—it's okay." Then he hears more cracks and Hermione appears with Sherlock and Ron appears on his own. John notices how Sherlock's one hand rested on Hermione's waist. He also notices how Sherlock is not behaving the same way he was. Ron, too, notices that. He asks Sherlock, "You okay?"  
Sherlock grumbles, "Yes. I have done this before." He slyly shoots a look at Hermione.  
Ron scowls. John smiles. Harry arches an eyebrow in amusement.  
John looks around. They are currently in an idyllic northern Britain village. There is a cobbled road and quaint little shops. Then John blinks in surprise. Scratch the idyllic, is that a man flying on a broom? He asks, "Uh. Where are we?"  
Harry grins, "The only magical village in England. Welcome to Hogsmeade."  
Sherlock too is looking around with amusement shining bright in his eyes. This is truly a novelty. Hermione says, "I haven't been here in ages. Where's Honeydukes again?"  
Ron says, "Follow me."  
The company follows Ron. Suddenly, from between two houses, Sherlock catches a glimpse of a towering castle. He asks, "Hermione, what is that?"  
Hermione turns her head, "Oh! That is Hogwarts! Wait, how can you see it?"  
"Hogwarts isn't hidden from Muggle view from Hogsmeade," Harry answers.  
"Oh yeah."  
John too stares at the castle in awe. Then they finally stop in front a shop. Ron says, "Honeydukes."  
""Sweet in the ending,"" Sherlock mutters, "The tunnel then connects Hogwarts and this shop."  
"Yes," Harry says.  
Hermione pushes open the door. The shop was nearly empty with a few shoppers strolling around. Harry, Hermione and Ron do not as much as glance at their surroundings. They were hurriedly making their way at the back of the shop while Sherlock and John briefly halted.  
Towering stacks of sweets of every colour possible. Stacks of sweets like 'Chocolate Frogs', 'Pumpkin Pasties', 'Butterbeer Sherbets', etc. Sherlock is simply speechless, busy clicking mental pictures. John, on the other hand pinched himself to check if he is a dream or not.  
Hermione finally realised Sherlock was not there. She turns around. She sees him picking up a chocolate frog. She calls out, "Sherlock! John! This way, c'mon!"  
The two men snap out of their puzzled amazement and run up to Hermione.  
Harry opens a green door and makes way down the stairs. The rest of them stand at the foot of the stair as Harry tries to remember where that particular stone slab was. Finally he finds it. He shares a look with his best friends. He pushes the slab. Sherlock runs down to help. Harry grumbles, "Thirteen year old me had no trouble."  
Sherlock smirks. Finally the slab shifts. A dark hole gapes at them. Hermione rushes over and leaning down mutters, "Lumos."  
She waves her wand sideways and gives a cry. Ron runs over and smiles. Rose is hunched at one corner, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling softly. Ron jumps down and gently scoops his daughter in his arms. He reaches the opening. Hermione takes Rose. She cradles her and says, "She is stupefied. Ennervate."  
Rose slowly blinks her eyes. When her vision clears and she sees her mother, she sits up straight and throws her arms around Hermione, crying, "Mum!"  
Hermione holds her tight. Her body shaking with tears. Ron comes out of the hole and kneels beside his ex-wife and daughter. He kisses the top of Rose's hair. Rose shouts, "Dad!"  
She jumps into Ron's arms. She then notices the other people in the room. She spots Sherlock first. She cries with a booming, "Sherlock!" and rams into Sherlock, throwing her arms open. Hermione gives a teary smile. The scene is funny. Rose hugging Sherlock, who is not sure where to put his hands, so he pats her head instead.  
Harry gets a hug too. He nods at Sherlock then, who follows Harry out of the basement. Sure enough, a few people have crowded at the entrance. Harry commands in a booming voice, "Who is the manager here?"  
A small man in bright orange robes appears. He recognizes Harry. He mumbles, "Yes?"  
Sherlock asks, "Where you here all morning?"  
The man says, "Well, sirs, I opened late today."  
Harry narrows his eyes, "Why?"  
"I—I slept late."  
"Did you know that a child was trapped under your basement?" Sherlock asks, his voice dropping several octaves. He inches closer to the manager, who cowers a little.  
"No, no I did not! Told you I arrived late! You can ask the shopkeeper opposite me!"  
"That we will, rest assured," Harry growled, "Now tell me why you were late!"  
"Out drinking last night?" Sherlock asks scathingly. He sees the bloodshot eyes.  
The man cowers some more, "Y-yes. Last night, I was at The Three Broomsticks, drinking and chatting with this young lady—"  
Harry and Sherlock share a look. Sherlock asks, "Shall we?"

Meanwhile, Hermione and Ron, each holding one of Rose's hands, walk upstairs. They exit the store with John tagging along. She asks, "Where did Sherlock and Harry go?"  
"I don't know," John says, all confused.  
Ron says, pointing to a bench opposite, "Shall we wait then?"  
They all agree and sit down. Rose cuddles up to her mother, "Mum?"  
"Yes, love?"  
"Why did you send the lady to pick me up? Why did she leave me here?"  
Hermione startles. She had completely forgotten to ask her daughter the relevant questions. She asks, "What lady Rose?"

Harry and Sherlock storm out of Honeydukes and make their way to the The Three Broomsticks. Harry pushes the door open. The shrunken heads at the door as usual start their cacophony which shocks Sherlock but he sweeps that aside.  
They saunter up to the bartender, a woman with wild brown hair and sharp features. She glances at the two newcomers and shouts, "Harry Potter!"  
"You're very famous," Sherlock whispers.  
"A celebrity like you," Harry sniggers. He smiles at the woman, "Madame Rosmerta! I thought you were leaving for a long vacation!"  
"Oh Harry," she walks from behind the bar and warmly clasps Harry's hand, "I don't trust that little Irishman entirely."  
As if on cue, a short, bulky guy comes out from a backdoor, accompanied by a tall, dark man. Harry spots them. He smiles broadly. The short one says, "Hey I am not in any way little! Ask Dean! Harry bloody Potter! I'd think you had forgotten us!"  
"Never!" Harry smiles and embraces him. Then he turns around and says, "Seamus, Dean, meet Sherlock Holmes."  
Sherlock squints. The taller, darker man looked familiar. He gasps, "Private Bainbridge?"  
Harry looks confused. Seamus doubles over in laughter. The other guy smirks, "I am also known as Dean Thomas. You never asked my full name. It is Private Dean Bainbridge Thomas. There was another Dean Thomas on the roll, which is why I am commonly known as just Bainbridge."  
"Are you a wizard too?"  
"Yes."  
Sherlock smiles. Life was so full of surprises. Seamus says, "So this is Sherlock Holmes. Dean showed me your pictures on the Internet. Nice to meet you." He shakes hand with the detective.  
"Yes, as plain amusing all this is, Harry?"  
Harry asks, "Say, do any of you know the manager of Honeydukes?"  
Seamus replies, "Yeah, Mortimer something why?"  
"Was he here last night?"  
Rosmerta replies, "Yeah he was in last night. Drank a lot of mead, he did."  
Sherlock interjects, "Was he with someone?"  
"Yeah a pretty young blonde thing. I think she was French or something."  
Sherlock nearly stops breathing. He says, "Yes, of course," to himself and to them, "Thank you." He abruptly leaves.  
Dean asks, "Harry, everything all right? This Auror business?"  
Harry lies, "Yes."

Sherlock finds Hermione with no difficulty. He sees the surprised look on her face. He says, "Hermione?"  
She looks up. Her brown eyes wide in shock. She says, "Rose just told me who took her from school."  
"Yes. A pretty, young, blonde woman."  
John jumps, "How—?"  
"Remember how we never questioned it in Paris?"  
"Paris?" Ron asks.  
"Oh," Hermione gasps.  
Harry joins them. He looks between Hermione and Sherlock. He can see both their mental gears grinding. He asks, "Uh, what is going on?"  
"Harry, you need to look into one Marianne Zabini Bernard," Hermione says in a low voice.


	11. Chapter 11

Ron looks around the living room. Comfy chairs and cheery harlequin cushions strewn everywhere. Yes, Hermione had not changed much in the interior decorating department.  
Hugo had also been bought over at 221C and he can hear the two siblings chattering away. Hermione is in the kitchen, fixing dinner.  
A few minutes later, Ron stumbles into the kitchen. He asks, "Are you going to tell me what is really going on?"  
Hermione bit her lips. Oh, Ron is going to hate her after this. She replies, "Later, after the kids go to bed, okay?"  
Ron says nothing. He just grimly acquiesces.

The children had been tucked in and the two adults sit down in the living room. Ron is about to talk when Hermione asks, "Do you know anything about Sherlock Holmes?"  
Ron nods, "Harry told me he is a detective."  
"Well, three years ago, Sherlock faked his death so a madman would not kill his friends. This madman was named Moriarty. The thing is, he apparently blew his brains out but…well Moriarty used magic."  
"Moriarty? I have never heard of a Moriarty."  
"He was a Squib."  
"Then how could he use magic?"  
"He had a friend…Blaise Zabini."  
Ron's eyes stretch, "Impossible! He died! He fell from the tower, his face…" Ron stops as the truth dawns on him, "His face was mashed beyond recognition…Draco and Pansy had identified him with the ridiculous ring he used to wear."  
"Yes. Blaise too faked his death."  
"Too many people are faking their deaths nowadays…" Ron grumbles. Hermione cracks half a grin.  
"Well, then Blaise crossed the Atlantic and got in touch with his friend, Jim Moriarty, who by then was slowly becoming known in the criminal world. Together, these two constructed a criminal empire. Blaise changed his name to Sebastian Moran and took care of things in USA. Drugs, weapons, people—you name it. Here, Jim was busy being a consulting criminal."  
"Consulting criminal?"  
"Say you wanted to off your mother-in-law, you would go to this guy for advice."  
Ron sniggers, "Well if we knew, we could have gone to him to off Umbridge."  
Hermione laughs, "Anyway, this is how Jim came in contact with Sherlock. Long story short, he is back and he wants to finish what he started with Sherlock. But this time he is dragging me along."  
"Why you?" Then he looks away, "Yes…you two, Sherlock and you—the brainpower?"  
"Kind of."  
"Are we all in danger?"  
Hermione wants to lie. But decides to go with the truth, "Yes. Remember Pansy and Millicent's death? Yeah, that was Blaise."  
"Why?"  
Hermione, for starts her story again—from Cho Chang's tea shop to the cursing of Mrs. Hudson.  
Ron whistles. "What can I do Hermione?"  
"Help me to keep the kids safe."  
Ron puts his hand on hers. He nods determinedly. Even though he is a little stung for being the last to know, he brushes it off. The Trio, back in action? But he also has other nagging concerns. He clears his throat and pulls his hand back, "So…are you and Sherlock, uh, an item?"  
In some other reality, she would have fallen off her seat laughing. The idea of her with Sherlock was hilarious. But ever since that kiss, she was not so sure. So instead of retorting starkly she starts blushing and muttering, "What? No! Have you met him? He is not into, uh, relationships or such."  
Ron frowns, "Is he queer?"  
Hermione stops blushing, "What? No, no," Of course he cannot be, right? He kissed her and all, "No he is not."  
Ron smirks. He knows his best friend/ex-wife well. She could never convincingly lie. So her former answer needs some verification.

Hermione suddenly wakes up with a jolt. Sleeping on a sofa was not comfortable. Ron with his height could not fit on her sofa, so she had sacrificed her bed for him.  
She sits up, all disoriented. Her eyes fall on the little antique watch on her coffee table. She jumps to her feet. It is nearly thirty minutes past midnight!  
She tiptoes into her bedroom and slowly, soundlessly opens her drawer. She extricates a little gift box and leaves her bedroom. She then, with soft steps, goes upstairs.  
She had hoped that the door would be open and Sherlock would be awake. But the door is locked. She whispers, "Alohomora."  
The door swishes open. She smiles. Sherlock is asleep on his grey chair, with his limbs splayed and his head thrown back. What made her smile is the fact that the great consulting detective is softly snoring. Seriously, when is the camera when you need it?  
She tiptoes in and places the gift on the chair opposite him. She leans over Sherlock. She brushes some errant dark curls off his pale forehead and kisses him there. She murmurs, "Happy Birthday Sherlock."  
She pulls back and walks out. The door clicks into place. All the way down the stairs, an odd exhilaration fills her. She just shakes her head.  
Sherlock is actually not that deeply asleep, as far as anyone is concerned. He was taking a cat nap, if you had asked him. So the click of the door mysteriously wakes him up. He rubs his eyes. He thinks he just saw a dream. A woman, smelling like strawberries had come into the room and kissed him on the forehead.  
He gasps out loud when he finally spots the little gift box. Hermione, one single word resonates in his mind.

**A/N. This is more of a filler than a real chapter...  
****So sorry for the late update! I was simply too busy. I will try to be fairly regular now. -_-'**


	12. Chapter 12

"So will you be coming to the party? John invited us both," Molly says while hugging Greg from behind, who is busy trying to knot the ridiculous tie around his neck. Molly sighs, feeling quite smug. He is such a sexy silver fox and he is all hers.  
"I don't know. A triple homicide awaits," Greg says. He sees her exhaling out loud. "You would need to leave as well."  
"Oh yes. But I just cut up the bodies, not run around catching killers. I will finish quickly, anyway."  
There, he has finished knotting. He turns around and kisses her on her nose. He says, "I love when you talk macabre. I thought Sherlock did not want to celebrate his birthday."  
"John blackmailed him into it," Molly says with a grin.  
"Blackmail?"  
Molly nods and grabbing his neck pulls him down for a proper kiss.

Is John supposed to feel bad about blackmailing Sherlock into a party? Last time he checked, he did not really. It is always nice to have an upper hand when it comes to his best friend. But he admits his way might have been too harsh. Plus, he wanted to do this. Sherlock hates parties but John has not celebrated his birthday for two years. Only visited his "grave".  
So here he is now, at 221B, decorating with Hermione. And by decorating, it means that John is standing at a distance, mouth slightly unhinged as Hermione uses magic to hang up the fairy lights over the window. He mutters, "That is brilliant."  
"You are easily impressed," Hermione laughs, "John, do you have the cake order?"  
"Oh dear no," John races out.  
Hermione shakes her head again and decides to go check up on the detective.  
Sherlock and Rose have been banished because they were of no help and now they are sulking in 221C.  
Hermione opens the door. The living room is empty. She hears voices in the kitchen. She walks over there and nearly yelps. Between the two of them, they had her private potion ingredients stash open and they were poking at stuff and murmuring.  
"What. Are. You. Doing," Hermione says thunderously.  
Rose turns around and gives her mother her best deer-in-headlights look. Sherlock too turns around, and is a little peevish. He decides to do the explaining instead, "You said not to disturb you for the next two hours, so we..."  
"Decide to play with potentially dangerous things," she barges in and snatches the small trunk from the counter, all the while glaring. She turns to Rose, "You, you know how many times I have warned you not to touch these things. You read the books." Then she turns to Sherlock and says, poking his chest, "And you are supposed to be the responsible adult."  
She jabs at his chest again. He locks his gaze with hers. He sees her brown eyes glinting deadly. He finds her amusing as she fumes madly. Sherlock cuffs her wrist with his fingers. Hermione's eyes fall on his fingers encircled around her wrist. An unprecedented smile creeps on her face, in spite of herself. He is wearing her gift.  
She frees her wrist and says, "You like it?"  
Sherlock twirls the ring on his index finger. The silver band had inscriptions around its diameter. He says, "Thank you. I don't however—"  
"It is charmed. It won't ever discolour, get stolen, and those inscriptions are runes. Ancient Celtic runes. It is for protection and good luck." She smiles at him.  
He is awestruck for awhile. He murmurs, "I—thank you, really. It is the most unusual birthday gift I ever received."  
Hermione grins, "You are welcome. Okay birthday boy, you can go upstairs now. And please change. I don't want to see you in your house robes when guests arrive."  
The frown and nose crinkle intensifies.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade stands in a sparse room with bad lighting. Lying on the carpet-bare floor are three bodies. All male and by the looks of it, not exactly gentlemen. They were all dressed casually and two of them had been shot in the chest. The third had a bullet hole in his head.  
A forensic is leaning down on one body, the one with the hole in his chest. She swabs the shirt and drips a liquid down the sterile cotton bud. The bud turns a bright purplish-pink. She does the same for the other hole-in-heart body. Same results. She says, "DI Lestrade? These two men," she waves her hand, "They have been shot at close range. There is GSR on their shirts."  
Lestrade too leans over. "Any shell casings?"  
"No sir. I think it is from a Glock 17. The entry wounds are not that large."  
"Okay send the bodies to the morgue then. And what about this fellow?" Lestrade walks over to the third body.  
The forensic follows him and kneels beside the body. She looks closer and says, "I cannot say without checking but he was killed, I think, by a rifle at long distance." As if on cue, they both go and stand by the window. It is open and they both can see the building opposite. From the window they could see a room. A seemingly empty room with an open window and thin curtains pushed aside.  
Lestrade nods, "I am going over. When Donovan arrives, tell her to come over, okay?"  
The woman nods.  
Lestrade enters the building. The room opposite the crime scene is on the third floor. He rouses the superintendent, who confirms that the room is empty. But a police badge is greatly persuading and now, Lestrade follows the man.  
The superintendent shows great surprise when he sees the door unlocked. Lestrade just raises an eyebrow in irritation. He un-holsters his gun and goes in.  
Gun raised, he slowly inches in. He spots the window instantly. He goes and stands over there. A table is pushed against the wall. A rifle it was then. He looks around. There must be a shell casing.  
Suddenly his eyes fall on his this large closet. It is decidedly odd. It is triangular in shape and it should easily fit one full grown adult inside. And to add to the oddness, the door is open and Lestrade sees something metallic glinting. He goes nearer and sees the shell casing. It is pushed back in the closet.  
As he step inside and picks up the shell casing, two things happen. One, it is a 7.62x39mm round. So definitely a rifle. And two, the door slams shut, shutting him in the dark, claustrophobic space.

Molly is done with the three bodies. As assumed, two bodies had the same 9x19mm Glock 17 rounds while the third body had a different round. The bullets were dispatched to the ballistics department. Molly takes a taxi to 221B.  
She sees the pretty fairy lights. She wonders if it Hermione's doing. Lestrade had given her an account of her, moving into 221C and helping Sherlock with a case and all. She rings the doorbell. John's head peeks out of the window. He shouts, "Come on up. Door is open!"  
Molly smiles as she walks in. She enters the flat and notices a grumpy detective standing in the kitchen. She gives him her gift bag, "Happy Birthday Sherlock."  
Sherlock says nothing. Hermione comes over and nudges him with her elbow. He rolls his eyes, "Yes, Molly thank you."  
He takes the bag and escapes to his bedroom. Molly laughs, "He does not look so happy!"  
"He is stupid," Hermione says. A hand rests on her shoulders and she turns around. It is Sherlock. He thrusts a thing in her hand. She looks down. It is neatly wrapped square package. She looks up at him. He says, "Happy birthday to you as well."  
Molly frowns, "Is it your birthday too?"  
Hermione shakes her head, as she grins, "No, it was five months ago."  
"Oh." Then Molly watches on in amusement as Hermione stands on her tiptoes, places a hand on his shoulder for balance and kisses Sherlock on his cheek. She does not get to hear the low whisper of "Thank you" that sends shivers down Sherlock's back, but she does see the blush spreading over his face.  
Sherlock just clears his throat, "Hmm."  
Molly leaves them to join John by the window. She smiles as she says, "You won't believe what I saw."  
"Tell me about it," an amused glint in his eyes as well. Oh, he had seen it all.  
She takes the wine glass Mrs. Hudson offers. She takes a sip, "So what is your verdict?"  
"They are both idiots," Mrs. Hudson giggles.  
They share a laugh. Hermione and Sherlock come out of the kitchen to see the three of them laughing. Hermione says, "What's so funny?"  
Molly takes another sip. Mrs. Hudson mumbles something about refreshments. John just coughs, "Nothing."  
Sherlock locks his gaze with John. He can guess what got him laughing. He glares. John just responds with a cheeky grin. Hermione shakes her head and goes over to help Mrs. Hudson.  
Then Molly's phone starts ringing. She fishes it out of her handbag. It is Sally Donovan. She frowns. Sure, they had exchanged numbers way back when but they had never called each other. She picks up the phone warily.  
"Hello? Molly? Is Lestrade there?" Sally asks, her voice urgent.  
"No. He went to the crime scene," Molly replies, "What's wrong Sally?"  
"I know. Well, he left the scene. He got a clue. But when I came over, he was not there. A forensic on-site told me to go the building opposite. He wasn't there. So I thought he might have been at the morgue. I stopped over at the Yard as well, but he wasn't there. So I went to the morgue, he wasn't there either. So I thought he is with you?"  
"No," panic rising in Molly.  
"Where did he vanish too? Anyway, don't worry, I will keep looking." She disconnects.  
Sherlock notices Molly's shaky hands as she brings the phone down from her ears. He asks, "Molly?"  
"Lestrade...no one can find him. Sally called..." suddenly the wine disagrees with her and she runs into the bathroom.  
Sherlock and Hermione look at each other at the same time. It did not require them to have mind reading skills to know what the other is thinking.


	13. Chapter 13

The bodies were gone but Sherlock can get to the morgue later. He and John strut into the room while Hermione decides to remain at a safe distance. Crime scenes on TV were fine; crime scenes in real life were not so fine.  
Sherlock turns around and smirks, "What?"  
"I don't like death and destruction," Hermione solemnly answers. And the lives of others reduced down to chalk outlines, she thinks. She flicks a strand of brown hair aside, "What do you see?"  
"There is nothing much to see. The bodies are gone."  
"I meant," Hermione shakes her head, "Do you think this is his doing?"  
John asks, "Yeah, what do you think?"  
Sherlock puts his hands in his pockets and says, "That is highly possible." He walks up to the window. "The third shot came from there," he whispers to himself. Then he soundlessly leaves the room. John sighs and taking Hermione's elbow follows him.  
They enter the other building. It is crowded by a couple of forensics and a few police officers. Sherlock spots Donovan. John braces himself.  
"Who called you?" Donovan says with thinly hidden contempt, as she blocks the entrance to the apartment.  
"What is with that?" Hermione asks John in a hushed tone.  
"No love lost," John mutters, "I really hate her."  
Hermione looks at the woman in question. She did not like the ugly expression on her face.  
"Do I really need to answer that?" Sherlock asks even with more contempt.  
"Yes. This is a police investigation. Last time I checked, you aren't a police."  
"Lestrade disappeared."  
"Yeah so?"  
"As a friend—"  
"Ha! Freaks like you do not have friends," she throws a glance at John. Before she could comment on Hermione's presence, the witch takes out her wand and softly says, pointing the wand at Donovan, "Confundo."  
A shiver passes through Donovan as she walks away with a lost look on her face. Sherlock saw it. He asks, "What did you do?"  
Hermione shrugs, "A Confundus Charm. It confuses people."  
John smiles, "Thanks. I was nearly going to shout at her in frustration."  
"She is horrid," Hermione says, "If I hadn't, I reckon we would be standing here forever!" Of course that was fifty percent of the reason. The other reason being that it made her mad how that woman could say such things! He does not have friends? Oh really? He has a friend who is a witch!  
Sherlock coughs, "You can come in, no dead bodies or presence of dead bodies."  
Hermione nods her head and goes in first. John, as he passed Sherlock, says in a low voice, "You can always say thank you."  
Sherlock pretends not to hear it as he walks in. He sees the window with the curtain pushed aside. He sees the table. He also sees Hermione standing in front of a large closet pushed against a corner. He walks behind her and puts his hand on her shoulders. She jumps and faces him. The expression confuses him. It confuses him further when she says, "I know how Lestrade vanished."  
John hears it. He says, "Huh?"  
She gulps. She takes a look around. The remaining cops were in other rooms and the one forensic working there had left. She exhales, "This," she points to the triangular closet, "Is a Vanishing Cabinet. I saw it once. I thought it was destroyed. But of course it could be mended or made anew..." She gets lost in thought.  
Sherlock shakes her slightly, "Hermione come back!"  
She snaps back to the present. Sherlock asks, "Explain the thing."  
"There are always two cabinets connecting two places. If one goes through here, he or she will appear in the other connected Cabinet, miles away or blocks away."  
Sherlock removes his hands from her shoulder, "Lestrade went through here? Why?" He walks back towards the table. He rubs his finger over his lips. Suddenly he gets it, "The bullet! Now that it has been confirmed it is their doing, Blaise or Moriarty must have left the bullet there intentionally!"  
Hermione notices a few runes etched along the right side. She tentatively touches them. She says, "Yes. You are right. The bullet was kept inside. Like a trap. And as soon as Lestrade got in, the runes here activated and locked him in. Then someone on the other end just had to mutter the right password."  
John took all this in silent astonishment. Then he says, "So, should we like go in or something?"  
"No John, it is too dangerous. I should go alone," Hermione says. She takes a deep breath and clasps a handle but then a gloved hand jerks her away. She turns her head to see Sherlock standing there, his fingers around her wrist with a stormy expression on his face. He says, "If it is dangerous, you should not go either."  
Hermione takes her hand away, "Oh come on, I am a witch, and I can handle this."  
"Two against one? You don't know what is there on the other end!" He flails his hands.  
She scowls, "Don't be so patronising. I have dealt worse!"  
"Well you are not eighteen anymore!"  
"Sherlock, you—"  
"Enough!" John says loudly. They stop. John continues, "They send us clues before, right? Can we just wait till then?"  
Sherlock scowls, "Okay."  
Hermione does not say anything. She crosses her arms and nods.

"And that is Venus," Draco says to his son, Scorpius. They were on their terrace, star gazing. With Scorpius's deep interest in stars and planets, Draco knew already his son will do great in Astronomy.  
Scorpius puts his eye to the telescope. He lowers his field of view and then he gasps out loud. Draco asks, "What is it?"  
"Daddy!" Scorpius cries, his eyes glued to the telescope, "There are lights in the haunted mansion!"  
Alarm fills Draco. He snatches the telescope from his son's hand. He puts his eyes to the glass and it is his turn to gasp. He lowers the instrument, his heart a wild tattoo. He says, "Scor? Go downstairs, okay?"  
Scorpius scowls, "But daddy?"  
He gets down on his knees and says, "I promise we will be back tomorrow. But now I need to go. I just remembered some important work."  
"Is it about the lights?"  
Draco chuckles, "You are too smart. But tell no one. Not even grandma, okay? This is our secret." He fists his hand and extends it towards Scorpius.  
Scorpius bumps his tiny fists against his father and nods. Then he whispers, "Okay daddy."  
Draco watches his son's body vanish down the stairs. He picks up the telescope again. Yes, there are lights. He apparates.

The three of them return back to Baker Street. It has been two hours since. Still no owl or riddles. They were all getting a little impatient.  
Hermione rises from her perch on the sofa and decides to change into more comfortable clothes. If the need for action arises her claret midi bodycon dress will not be very helpful. She first goes over at Mrs. Hudson's flat. She collects Rose and goes over at her place.  
She gets to her bedroom and before taking off her coat, checks the pocket. Her fingers brush against a little box. She startles. Sherlock's gift! She brings it out and shakes it. Something rattles inside. She gently opens the wrapping paper. A little pink box. She removes the lid and there, nestled in cotton, lies a beautifully carved barrette. She gasps. She gently picks it. She touches the carvings on the little hair accessory. There were three flowers, surrounded by vines, carved in silver. She did not recognise the flower. It is flat, with four round petals that slightly tapered at the end. She smiles. This is a really beautiful gift. She has been never overly fond of jewelry and even when she bought jewelry, she liked it simple and unpretentious, like this barrette. Sherlock nailed it. She smiles wider as she puts it back in the box. Then she puts the box in a drawer.  
She then smacks her forehead. She came here to change, not moon about gifts given by a man she is getting more attracted to day by day, in spite of herself.

Sherlock looks up as Hermione enters the flat after a few minutes. He notes her change of outfit with a slightly arched eyebrow. He liked the dress on her better. The colour really complimented her tawny curls and complexion. He gets a little astonished by the direction his thoughts were taking. Thankfully he is saved from his own mind when Hermione asks, "Anything?"  
He had hardly opened his mouth when a loud crack resonates through the room. All heads turn to look at the newcomer.  
Hermione says, "Draco?" And is that a telescope in his hand?  
"Hello," Draco Malfoy says, waving his hand.


	14. Chapter 14

"John, this is Draco Malfoy," Hermione says, "We went to school together."  
John stands up and greets the man. He comments, "The magical school?"  
Hermione nods. Draco whispers to her, "Muggle?"  
"Yes," she replies.  
"If you plan to lecture us about stars and constellations, I am not interested as John would tell you I deleted the solar system from my brain long time ago," Sherlock drawls.  
Hermione stifles laughter as pure confusion colours Draco's face. He even asks, "Umm, what?"  
"You don't want to know," John speaks.  
"No, I am not here to lecture anybody," Draco scratches his neck, "But yeah, I was stargazing on my terrace with my son when he discovered there were lights flashing in the abandoned mansion, about a mile from my mansion," Draco says.  
"So?" Sherlock asks.  
"The mansion in question is the old Zabini abode."  
Hermione whips her head around to look at Sherlock, who had jumped from his chair. He says, "Mr. Malfoy, we need to go there at once."  
John says, "But—"  
"If the mansion had been uninhabited this long, and now what with Lestrade missing..." Hermione left off for John to fill in the blanks.  
As comprehension dawns on John, it gets soon replaced by dread. He rubs his face and says, "We are doing that again, aren't we?"  
Hermione sadly nods. She says, "Since I don't know this place, we are doing a side-along apparition. Ready?"  
She links her arms with Draco and Sherlock. John grudgingly comes forward and links his arms with Sherlock and Draco. Hermione says, "John, hold your breath this time, okay?" She also mentally sends a prayer to all Gods that nobody gets splinched.  
She nods at Draco. It is lift-off.

Lestrade is dreaming. Or so he thinks. This could be reality but he does not really know. It is peaceful though. He is in a meadow, a rather beautiful meadow. The weather is great. The sky is clear. He sees his children racing around. He sees Molly seated beside him, a wine glass in hand. She smiles beatifically as she sips her wine.  
Lestrade smiles, as happiness fills his senses. He had thought that the closing darkness would have swallowed him. But that had not happened. He is happy, he is alive, and he is free.  
The pressing darkness will never get him.

The four of them appear in a wooded area. John feels relatively better. Holding breath was great advice.  
Hermione asks, "John, you okay?"  
"Yes. Thanks," he smiles.  
"Anybody feel queasy?"  
When all of them confirm that they are in no way splinched, she exhales in relief.  
"It is through there," Draco points towards a small clearing in the wood. A narrow trail could be seen winding through more trees. The night looked even more solid. An involuntary shiver passes through Hermione. Draco notices it. So does Sherlock. However, Draco says in a soft, private voice, "Hey, it is okay." He touches her hand and entwines his fingers with hers.  
Sherlock scowls a bit and scowls some more when she does nothing to take back her hand. Hermione sneers, "Excuse me, I am not afraid, just not fond of dark place. What is this place anyway?" Sherlock's scowl erases when she finally takes back her hand.  
"The woods separating the Malfoy and Zabini mansions. It was much less woody when they lived here. But then they left. I sealed the back garden doors and nature took its course," Draco answers.  
"A mile long then?" John asks, "We forgot torches!"  
"It is all right," Draco says, "Lumos Maxima," his wand tip glows bright, covering almost the whole area in white silvery light.  
John smiles on, thoroughly impressed. Hermione however had other concerns, "Uh, Draco? These woods, are they safe?"  
"I, well, I don't know. It was safe when I was a kid."  
She just sighs, "Okay, you lead."  
Draco goes first, followed by Sherlock, then John and finally Hermione, with her wand raised. She did not like the darkness, or the creepy stillness. Not even a night bird could be heard. The eerie silence is heavy. It feels like as if the entire wood were holding its breath. Her discomfort intensified. She hurries forward and stands beside John.  
John whispers, "I think Sherlock bought his gun."  
Hermione whispers back, "So that is why it was taking him so long to fetch his coat?"  
John solemnly nods, "I forgot mine."  
"Don't worry, I am quite adept with this," Hermione twirls her wand.  
Suddenly she bumps into the person in front of her. It is Sherlock. She had not noticed before, but she realises that both Sherlock and Draco have stopped in their tracks. She exchanges a look with John.  
John asks, "What's wrong?"  
"Do you hear that?" Sherlock whispers.  
Oh Lord, Hermione thinks, just what I feared. As if on cue, she too hears rustling footsteps. Draco whispers, "Uh, I forgot to mention, Blaise's father was involved in a black market creatures trade, that he used to conduct out of his own basement."  
Hermione furiously says under her breath, "You forgot to mention this?"  
"Sorry. It escaped my mind."  
Sherlock brings out the gun from his pocket. John looks around and finds a sturdy branch. He whispers, "Uh, what kind of creatures?"  
"Magical ones," Hermione replies.  
John nods, not fully grasping the concept. He looks down at the branch, his improvised weapon of choice. How screwed are they? He wonders if he is going to meet a dragon or something.  
The footsteps increased. Sherlock says, "Whatever it is, it now bought a friend."  
Hermione mutters, "Lumos Maxima."  
The area gets almost as bright as day between her and Draco's wands. Still nothing could be seen, only the sounds were heard.  
Then out of the blue, a huge creature walks out of the shadows and up at them. John cannot believe his eyes. Sherlock is rendered immobile. They cannot fathom what they are seeing. A lion-like creature with a humanoid face and a scorpion tail?  
Hermione screams while Draco shouts, "That is a Manticore!"  
Sherlock turns his head around in the opposite direction from where the first lion-like creature appeared. He says loudly, "As I said, it has a friend."


	15. Chapter 15

The large, black, solemn owl flies over the woods and perches on a window on the second floor of the abandoned mansion. A person waiting inside looks at the owl with an arched eyebrow. He spots the untied letter wound around the bird's ankles.  
He walks over to the bird. He scratches its head and croons softly to it, "Nix, what is this? You couldn't deliver the letter?"  
"So they are not there?" another person hidden in the shadow speaks. "Blaise, how could that be?"  
"Maybe they at the morgue?" Blaise counter questions. He looks at his friend thinking hard. He really hates it when he does that. Fall into silence and emerge from it with a solution no one understands. Finally, not being able to take the silence anymore, "Jim!"  
Jim breaks away from his torpor. He smiles, "I am afraid."  
"Afraid of what?"  
"They are coming here."  
Blaise startles, "Impossible! No one knows we are here!"  
"Say, someone noticed something from the Malfoy Manor?"  
Realisation dawns on Blaise. He mutters, "Those stuck up bitches were always interested in stars and shit. I remember one of their towers was full of astronomy stuff."  
"What will you bet that your friend saw us? It is a very clear night...beautiful for stargazing."  
Blaise curses, "You should have let me kill Draco." He rubs his shaved head. Suddenly he starts guffawing. Jim raises an eyebrow. Blaise explains, "Well, if they are really in there," he waves his hand, sweeping over the entire vista of the woods, "They are in for a surprise!"  
Jim scowls. He fails to follow. He asks, "Whatever do you mean?"  
"Remember how I once told you my father was involved in an illegal creature trade?"  
Jim smirks, "You boasted for days about that time when you saw a dragon egg!"  
"After we were forced to leave, some of the eggs were destroyed and creatures were let loose. Among them were a few Manticores..."  
The evil grin spreads across Jim's face as the candle light reflected the crazy in his brown eyes.  
As if the universe was waiting for this prompt, Blaise sees lights of various colours fill the woods. He says, "Looks like they have found each other."  
"Well, then slight change of plans!" Jim lazily stands up and joins his friend near the window.

This is crazy, Hermione thinks, as she shoots another useless curse at the creature. When the two beasts had charged at them, Hermione and John had run in one direction while Sherlock and Draco in another. The two Manticores then separated and gave chase.  
John shouts, "Why aren't your curses working?"  
"Manticores are able to repel most curses!" Hermione shouts back. A tree branch nearly slaps her face. She ducks.  
John shouts again, "What do they want?"  
"Us! Human flesh, to be exact!"  
John does not say anything. His heart nearly drops to his knees. All those years has a soldier never prepared him for this. While running, he looks down at the stick and misses his gun severely.  
Suddenly John trips and the stick slips from his hands. He looks down, just in time to see a root being responsible for his fall. Real horror sets in when his ankle twists in an odd angle and he falls. His face meets the soft ground but he soon turns on his back. "Shit," is all he manages to say.  
Hermione stops when she realises she cannot hear John behind her. A few paces away she stops. Her eyes go wide in horror. John lies on the ground, prostate and the Manticore stands a few feet away with triumph glowing in its eyes. It drags one of its fore-paws on the dirt. Its scorpion tail sways and a disgusting grin fills its humanoid face. It strikes dread in both of their hearts.  
John sits up and stretches his hands looking for the stick. The light from Hermione's wand had diminished. Everything is a little dark. But this movement shifts the pace of time. Till now, it was in a limbo. Hermione panting a few feet away, the beast contemplating and John scared immobile. But before he could feel the stick, the Manticore charges.  
Hermione screams, "No!" but it is too late. John puts up his left hand to shield himself. Sharp claws slice through his jacket. Adrenaline keeps him from the pain, but he winces anyway, what with the the Manticore grinning at him with sharp teeth and bad breath.  
Hermione tries another spell, "Stupefy!" nothing "STUPEFY!" She nearly breaks down. But John did not stop looking for his weapon. His fingers finally clasp it just about when the Manticore tries a second time to cut his hand to ribbons.  
John is in the fight survival mode. He grasps the stick in both hands and swings it in its face. The Manticore sways a bit, a little surprise and backs away slightly, confused. That does not stop it though. But it gives John enough time to stand up. Pain shoots up from his right leg. Damn it, it is _definitely_ cracked at least, he thinks.  
The Manticore is about to charge again, angrier than before, unhappy about being denied his meal. However, John is prepared this time. He shouts, "Hit its underside!"  
Hermione nods. Maybe that could work; every animal is vulnerable on their chest. She briefly muses if they would be the first people to survive a Manticore. She direly hopes so.  
The Manticore picks up speed. John smirks. Good, time to use that to his advantage. As it comes closer and makes a leap into the air, John, ignoring all the pain, swings his weapon, hard.  
As the beast gets knocked in the midst of its jump, it turns and falls on its back with a loud thud. Hermione takes that exact moment to scream out, "Sectumsempra!"  
John pants, his adrenaline wearing off when he sees deep gashes forming on its flesh. A most inhuman sound escapes from its mouth. Hermione softly murmurs, "Silencio."  
The inhuman sounds are silenced, as the beast thrashes around in pain. Hermione chokes, "I am so sorry."  
John limps up to her and puts his hands on her shoulder. He sighs, "It could have killed us."  
"I know," she sniffs and turns to face John. Another sob escapes her throat, "Oh John I am so sorry!"  
John sighs and pulls her closer. She tucks her head on his shoulder and says, "I am sorry I could not help you."  
"That is okay. It was pretty invincible. I am fine."  
Hermione pulls back. She says, "Where are you hurt?"  
John winces, "Right ankle and left arm."  
She nods and pushes him to sit down and lean back on the tree. She kneels in front of him. She pushes back the jeans on his right leg. She touches the tender part. He loudly swears. She says, "It is definitely cracked. I can fix it. Will that be okay?"  
John just nods. She continues, "This might hurt a bit. Episkey!"  
"Might hurt a bit" was the understatement of the year. He hears the bone cracking and joining again. First he feels really hot and then suddenly he downright starts shivering with cold. Coupled with the excruciating pain, the odd sensation and the sick crunching noise, he feels downright nauseous. He gulps back down the bile. He does not wish to throw up on the woman helping him.  
Hermione charms some bandages. "Now, let me see your arm."  
John shows her. He cautiously asks, "Will this hurt just as bad?"  
Hermione smiles, "No. Vulnera Sanentur." The deep gashes close and the bleeding stops. She says, "There will be scars."  
"This will be hard to explain to my wife," John smiles.  
She charms some more bandages. John says, his good hand pointing up, "Uh Hermione what is that?"  
She turns around and looks back. She sees bright red fireworks coming from the direction on their right. She mutters, "Draco and Sherlock."

Sherlock is standing on one side, his gun raised. Draco stands on the other, his wand raised. He says, defeated, "Nothing works on them." They had been running for awhile. They have no idea how far they have come when Draco had halted to catch his breath.  
"What about guns?" Sherlock asks.  
"I don't know. No one has survived to tell the tale."  
They slowly back away, not breaking eye contact with the dangerous creature in front of them. But it proves fruitless when the Manticore charges at them. He runs towards Draco.  
Draco hardly finds the window to move when it lands on his chest. Sherlock shoots once. The bullet hits its scorpion tail. Except for the bright sparks and the Manticore getting slightly distracted and growling at Sherlock and then swatting Sherlock away like a fly with its massive scorpion tale, nothing happened. Sherlock lands with a soft thud. Apparently Draco is to be the main course. It growls once in Draco's face.  
Draco closes his eyes and prays. He lets out a scream when the beast pierces its teeth into his shoulder. But before it can tear a piece of his flesh, it retracts its teeth and turns. It growls again. Looks like it changes its mind, when it leaps off his chest and charges towards Sherlock.  
Sherlock, after getting to his feet and blinking hard to remove the stars he was seeing, had thrown a good sized stone he had found on the ground at the Manticore. Well the plan had worked. The beast confronts him and growls. Sherlock takes aim. He puts his finger on the trigger. The beast comes closer. He inhales, and then slowly exhales, releasing the trigger. The bullet left the chamber and with a resounding bang, settled right in between the Manticore's eyes. A shudder passes through him when he sees his idea working as the beast falls to the ground.  
Draco asks, weakly, "What did you do?"  
Sherlock sits down on a broken tree trunk and rubs his face. He says, "Rhinoceros's have tough hides. The only efficient way to kill them is right in between the eyes."  
"Rhinoceroses are those ugly Muggle animals right?"  
Sherlock smiles, "Yeah."  
Draco sighs, "Sherlock? Will you bring me my wand please? It flew from my hand when it attacked me. I need help."  
Sherlock stands up and walks around Draco. He finally finds the wand a few feet away from Draco. He picks it up and places it in Draco's good hand.  
Draco says, "Thank you. You saved my life."  
Sherlock just nods. He sees Draco point his wand upwards and mutter some words. Red sparks leave from the wand tip and bursts bright like fireworks in the sky. Draco explains, "So Hermione can find us."

Hermione walks towards them with a limping John, who had transformed his improvised weapon to an improvised crutch. She stops in her tracks. John asks, "What?"  
"There," she points. She sees Sherlock's back, sitting on a trunk. She runs to him.  
Sherlock raises his head when he hears footsteps behind him. He stands up and turns around. Relief floods him when he sees an otherwise unharmed Hermione running to him.  
She feels elated to see Sherlock's pale face looking at her. She keeps on running forward until she crashes into his chest and throws her arms around his neck. She nearly knocks him over, but he balances himself and lets his arms wind around her. She says, "Are you okay?"  
"Yes," he says, "You?" She nods and nearly melts further as his rich baritone fills her head. She would like to stay like this a bit more. But then she spots a prostate Draco looking at her with amusement in his eyes.  
Draco smirks, "Granger, if you two are done, I am sort of injured." John chuckles from behind. A full-on blush appears on her face, so she is glad for the darkness that hides it. She entangles herself from Sherlock. She does not look at him as she dons a sheepish look and walks over to Draco.  
John gets closer to Sherlock and smirks. Sherlock says, "Why are you limping?"  
"A little crack in my talus," John says nonchalantly, "I have never seen you hugging anybody."  
Sherlock chooses grave silence as his answer. To his annoyance, it only broadens John's grin.

**A/N. There is very little information about Manticores...**


	16. Chapter 16

"Whoa," John mutters as the Zabini mansion comes into view. He is not astonished because the mansion is greatly constructed. He is just admitting to himself that if he does not believe in ghosts, he can start believing now.  
Creepy is a good, generic, word to describe what is in front of them. A decrepit mansion where nature had gleefully and triumphantly taken its course. The darkness enveloping it seemed much deeper than in the forest.  
They were standing in, what was once, a driveway. Smooth gravel had nearly disappeared under wild grass. The grand fountain directly in front of the entrance is broken. Hermione realises with a jolt that the monument is a snake. Not surprising though, she muses darkly. The three storey mansion had given way to trees and creepers which covered almost every place. The windows were broken and the main door looked like a strong gust of wind could blow it.  
However, a nagging suspicion pricks at Hermione's brain. She asks, "Draco? Do you think it is charmed?"  
Draco frowns. It is not entirely impossible for his former friend to do that. He replies, "Could be."  
Hermione raises her wand, "Finite Incantatum."  
When Hermione mutters the spell, the air around the mansion gets warped. They all glimpse under the disguise. The doors locked and the windows are fixed. But the charm is too strong. It repels Hermione's spell. The charm does not stop working. Things go back to as they were before. Like a jelly pudding which wobbles slightly at sudden movement but maintains its rubbery frame.  
Sherlock asks, "What is that?"  
John grumbles, "Not now Sherlock."  
Hermione shakes her head at him. Draco coughs, "Should we..."  
Sherlock, deciding he had enough, stealthily walks around, so now he stands right beside Hermione. To say he was not jealous of Draco and Hermione's nearness would be an understatement. He says, "We should. I mean between a gun, two wands and a, ahem, stick, we are enough."  
Hermione laughs at the last bit. John is not amused but he is pleased that he and his stick was enough to defeat a dangerous magical creature. Too bad, he will not be able to tell _that_ story to anyone.  
She grasps her wand tightly, squares her shoulders and says, "Okay gang, let's do this."  
And with that they enter the dark, unwelcome abode.

The illusion is only on the exterior. The interior looked like someone tried to clean but the dust proved to be quite resilient. The entrance followed into a foyer with cracked Italian marble at their feet. Two rooms dotted the left and right wall. An elaborate staircase started a few feet away from them, stopped at a short landing and split at the end, leading to two separate staircases to the east and west wing.  
Hermione and Draco both mutter "Lumos" and the light thrown shows stairs that have been fortunately repaired. John whispers, "They are definitely here."  
Sherlock rolls his eyes. He grabs Hermione's elbows and whispers in her ear, "Come with me." She nods as he drags her to the room on the right. The door had given away a long time ago. She increases the light's brightness and they both peep in. It is a parlour of some sorts with weathered sofas and an empty liquor cabinet. The carpet is barely holding on and the paint is a disgrace.  
"No one here," Sherlock mutters. Following Sherlock and Hermione's example, Draco and John too went to investigate the other room. They discovered it is a ballroom of some sorts. The enormous French windows at the extreme end of the room led to the garden, or what passed for a garden. John comes out and says, "There are windows leading outside. Do we need to...?"  
Sherlock shakes his head. John goes and calls Draco back. Draco joins them, his bad arm a muffled sound in the pain spectrum. He is trying to ignore it, but like a bad song stuck in your brain, he is really failing at it. It did not hurt when he kept his arm vertical, but really sucked when horizontal or diagonal. He wonders if he would be of any help.  
They all look at the stairs. The banisters with their ancient wood skeleton showing and the once grand golden polish flaking. The steps, however much repaired, did not entirely look trustworthy. Hermione says, "Okay. We need to split up. A wizard with a human. I will go with Sherlock and John will go with Draco."  
Sherlock has a silent victory. He does not over analyse it but his soul does gloat a little. Hermione continues, "We go east, you two go west. Patronuses if we get into any sort of trouble."  
With a solemn nod from John, they separate. They climb the steps as carefully as possible. At the landing where the two staircases diverged, they share one last look before turning their backs.

Sherlock falls back in his step. He lets Hermione lead. After all, she had a glowing wand, he did not. He transfers the gun from his pocket to hand anyway. The east corridor is long. They are numerous rooms on both their sides. But nothing leaps out at them. Hermione frowns. Sherlock feels a pang of primal fear settling. The dark and the mysterious might be his forte, but he had managed to remind himself that this kind of dark and mysterious was definitely not in his expertise.  
Suddenly they hear a sound. They both look at each other. A wailing sound. They could not decipher the words, but it is definitely coming their way. A door on their right bursts open and weak blue light engulfs them. Sherlock hears Hermione groan, "Ghosts!"  
Right enough, a woman dressed in Victorian attire floats out of the room with sneer etched across her face. As her eyes fall on them, the wail returns and magnifies. She screeches, "Mudblood! And Muggle! In my home! Oh the horror! In the Zabini mansion! My husband will have your head! You filth! The very scum of the earth! Be gone you dirty pariah dogs! BE GONE!"  
The screech reaches a crescendo and they feel like their very eardrums might tear any moment. She whips forward and passes right through Sherlock. He felt he just got dipped in ice cold water. He stumbles. But the woman does not stop there. She keeps up her inane screams. Hermione shouts, "Oh Merlin, ENOUGH! IMMOBULUS!" The ghost stops, but as she is about to open her mouth for another tirade, "MUFFLIATO!" The ghost keeps on shouting, but happily they can no longer hear her.  
Hermione takes a few deep breaths, her voice felt scratchy for shouting so hard. She hears a snort beside her. Sherlock is smirking. She asks, "What?"  
"That is not the first racist ghost, I expect," he replies. He rubs his chest, still reliving the whole plunged-in-ice feeling.  
"Yes. But it wasn't a ghost. It was a painting."  
Sherlock is about to ask when she says, "I don't think anything is here. Let's head back to the landing."  
He nods and follows her. She glances back at him, "You okay?"  
"Yeah, maybe. She was cold and unpleasant," he says.  
She grins, "You don't say."

John and Draco were not faring that better. As soon as John had gone into the second room to check, he was staring down at Sherlock, lying down on the ground, with blood coating his dark curls.  
Draco had walked further when he realised John was no longer with him. He turned around. He did not understand why John was standing on the edge of the room looking in with horror on his face. Draco goes to stand beside him. The scene in front of him simultaneously increased and decreased his confusion—he knew it was a Boggart but what he did not know is why John was seeing a dead Sherlock with the Boggart changing shapes every few seconds, but each fear reflected a dead Sherlock in various scenarios. Sometimes a bullet shot dying his white shirt crimson or sometimes his head smashed in.  
Draco gently placed his hands on John's shoulder as he remembered a particular bit he had read on the Internet. He points his wand and says is a firm voice, "Ridikulus."  
The macabre vision stops. John jolts awake, he turns around, his eyes moist and his face pale. Draco simply says, "It was a Boggart, a creature that takes form of your darkest, truest, deepest fear." John nods. He does not feel entirely inquisitive right now.  
As they are about to go further down the corridor and put the incident behind them, the entire place fills with music. They hurry back to the landing where they find the other two standing, perplexed.  
Hermione and Sherlock too, hear it. She says, "Wait, what? I know this song." She stops to hear it.  
A deep silky voice sings, "No, I don't wanna fall in love with you. I don't wanna fall in love with you. With you."  
Hermione whispers as the chorus starts, "Wicked Games?"  
"Wicked Games by Chris Isaak, 1989," Sherlock says in a tired voice, "He rather liked his stupid retro songs."  
"Oh darling, how well you remember me!"


	17. Chapter 17

"To be honest that is another weakness of mine," all heads swivel around to locate the source of the voice.  
Besides John, Sherlock and Hermione, Draco is the only one to ask aloud, "Who are you?"  
"Oh yes, sorry, where do my manners go? Hello Draco Malfoy, I am your former best friend's other friend, Jim Moriarty. Finally good to meet you! I have heard so much about you and your colourful family! But alas, you cannot participate this time."  
With that Draco drops. Hermione nearly cries in alarm. She rushes over and kneels beside him. John too, leans  
down. He checks his pulse. He says, "He is alive."  
"But stupefied most probably," Hermione sighs in relief.  
Sherlock was trying to ascertain where the spell came from, but it is futile. Moriarty's voice begins to echo around again, "And John, John, John. How good to see you as well. I am really resisting the urge to strap you with something," insert hysterical laughter, "Will ropes do? I am short of bombs as you can see."  
John hardly forms a sentence when ropes manifest around him and slither across. They completely tie him up. Losing his balance he falls gracelessly to the ground. The only thoughts he has are "Not again" and "My leg."  
"So now we are even. Honestly Sherlock, two wizards and two men against one man and one wizard? Not fair at all," the dismembered voice continues.  
"Why don't you come out and play?" Sherlock shouts.  
"Yeah show your face coward!" Hermione shouts along, having quite enough of Moriarty already.  
Suddenly the floor under their feet crumbles and with a shriek from Hermione they plunge downwards into darkness. She clutches onto whatever part of Sherlock she could hold onto. After a blink of an eye they land on a hard, bare wooden floor. Sherlock first, which made for a softer landing for her, not for him though. His back reprimands him all right. Also he realises that in her haste the one thing she had clutched onto was his scarf, and her grip is tight. He wheezes, "Hermione? You are choking me."  
When Hermione realises her mistake and releases him, she gasps aloud, "Oh Merlin, I am so sorry!"  
He coughs a few times. She had landed on his chest. She looks down at him with concern shining bright in her eyes. She sits up straight and places her palm on his chest. He coughs again, his chest rumbles. She rubs it and says, "You okay? I wasn't planning to kill you."  
The slow circular motions on his chest were a little, but not wholly, uncomfortable. He puts his hand on hers and says in a rough voice, "I am fine."  
Hermione gets her cue. She takes off her hand. She stands up and patting the dust from her jeans, takes a look around. "I think we are in a library of some sorts."  
Sherlock too stands up. He sways a bit. He blinks out the stars in his eyes for the second time in a day and says, "Looks like it."  
"Lumos," she mutters. The room gets cast in a feeble bluish light. It is a huge room; her wand is not enough to light it. The only evidence that this might have been a library is the rows of empty shelves and moth-eaten sofas. The windows have not been opened in a long time, judging by the grime coating it like a second skin. What caught their eyes next is a door swinging out of one of the shelves. A hidden door leading who knows where.  
They look at each other. Sherlock nods. They slowly make their way to it. He pulls it. A dark passage stares back at them. "More dark passages, terrific," Hermione mutters.  
"I thought you weren't afraid of the dark," he says.  
"Shut up, we all are, to a certain extent, afraid of the dark." She knew he agreed with her when he replied with silence and no snarky comment.  
She peeps in and waves her wand. The darkness swallows the light. All they could see were a few destroyed cobwebs and footprints in the dust. She leans down to look at them better while he walks back and investigates the hidden panel.  
She says, "These overlap."  
He says after seeing the new marks made on the floor with repetitive opening and closing of this door, "They have coming and going out of this a lot."  
They look at each other. Each coming to one conclusion. Jim Moriarty and Blaise Zabini have been living here.  
She however shakes her head, "But the Aurors looked here. Harry came with his team."  
"But we saw it was charmed. Maybe your friend did not check."  
"That...I don't know."  
He shrugs. He comes to stand beside her again. "We do need to go in," he says.  
"Yes. Who knows what is waiting in there to kill us?"  
He grins, "I have a gun. You have a wand. We are covered."  
She smiles, "Yes sir I feel so secure. Come on."  
She walks in first and he follows, her wand showing them the way. Wood panels surround them on both sides. The floor beneath their feet is however, made of stone. He has a feeling where this might lead. He keeps his deduction to himself, this time.  
Soon enough, the floor dips ever so slightly. She looks at him. She asks, "Cellar?"  
He points to their feet. She nods. Obviously. She says, "You know this definitely feels like a trap now."  
"Of course it is. He rather liked his games," he says, with contempt.  
"I hope they are all right."  
"They want us mostly." He answers after he understands she is expressing her concern for their other two associates.  
"But Blaise wants to kill Draco!"  
"I don't think your boyfriend is going to die now."  
She whips around and glares at him, "Excuse me? Boyfriend?"  
He too glares back, "Well, he certainly behaves so. And so do you!"  
"We are walking in a dark corridor and we are doing this now?"  
"You started it!"  
"Sherlock Holmes! He is not my boyfriend!"  
"You were holding hands!"  
"When did that become an international symbol for "oh hello yes we are dating"?"  
"Something happened between you two when you were traipsing around for an explanation for that curse!" He nearly hisses out.  
"Nothing happened!" In spite of everything, all the blood in her body decides to collect in her face.  
"Liar. I can see your ears, they are red. Hence you are lying."  
She is at edge here. She does not turn around as she nearly screams, "Fine! I kissed him! I kissed you as well! No one came to interrogate me then!" She halts. She hears him stop walking as well.  
He stops. All his contempt dissipates. He pushed her and she snapped. He knew she had been trying to address their actions for awhile. For all his inexperience in tact and feelings, he acknowledged that discussing that here, in a dark passage, is not a good idea. To be honest, he had wondered way back as well why she would kiss him in the first place. But he had wondered more about his own actions.  
She rubs the bridge of her nose. This is not the place, or moment to say and confront this. But in her defence this is his fault. She says quietly, "Let it be. You don't have to say anything." He hears her unsaid "yet". He nods. They continue walking.  
The path suddenly comes to an end. Stairs spiralling down. The cellar they were talking about.  
"Here goes nothing," she steps down first. Her feet, instead of stepping on more stone floor, steps on something soft and squishy. And alive, as it scurries away. She yelps and steps back, crashing into him. She murmurs, "Rats. Stupid rats."  
"That is funny," he smirks after getting over the initial shock of wild hair smothering his face for a nanosecond. She opens her mouth to question what is so damn funny when he takes her hand and drags her forward. He takes one step down. He asks, "Shall we?"  
She nods and steps down beside him. Taking a deep breath, she lets him drag her down the stairs.  
A turn later, she no longer needs her wand to lead the way. A sole candle flickers in a dirty bracket on the wall. The candle throws light on a huge oak door bolted with iron bands. He raises a hand and touches it. She murmurs, "Alohomora."  
The bolts slid sideways and the door creaks open to a spacious room that seems like a laboratory of some sorts, judging by the weak light coming from a chandelier hanging above. Shelves devoid of instruments or equipments, broken glass on the floor, a few iron cages rusted over time and the old dusty smell associated with old, forgotten, locked up places.  
"Senior Zabini's creature trade spot," Hermione whispers.  
He nods. Far against the wall on the right, he spots a cage. A body of some sorts is laid down in there. He inhales deeply. He releases his hands from hers and says, pointing, "There."  
She squints. Her breath gets caught in her lungs. She whispers, "Lestrade?"  
"Could be," he manages his voice from shaking too much.  
"Sherlock? This—"  
"Is too easy, I know."  
She shakes her head at him when he enters the room anyway. She could list so many reasons not to go in there. Who knew what were lurking in the shadows where the light failed to penetrate? An evil psychopath, the other evil murderer or another Manticore?  
Sherlock was halfway in the room when she decides to follow him anyway. She raises her wand, all prepared. He gets to said cage and leans down. He looks up at her, his face flushed, "He is alive."  
She closes the gap in a sprint. She kneels down beside him and looks in the cage. Greg Lestrade lies there, as if sleeping, with a gentle smile on his face. She says, "I think he is dreaming. He looks like..."  
"He is sleeping?" A male voice speaks up from the shadows.  
Ding ding ding. Her heart drops as she realises the winner of that voice is the other evil murderer.


	18. Chapter 18

"Blaise," Hermione says as she gets to her feet and clutches onto her wand like it is her life force. She is ready. She feels Sherlock get to his feet behind her.  
"Where is your friend?" Sherlock asks.  
"None of your business, he will show up when he requires to." He raises his wand and smiles furtively at them. It sends shivers right up Hermione's spine. Her foggy memory of the former Slytherin clashes too strongly with this. He sneers, "I challenge you to a duel, Hermione."  
He comes closer. Sherlock frowns. Duel? Whatever does that mean? She turns around to look at him and say, "A wizard duel, with wands."  
"Explain the rites to your boyfriend later love."  
Okay. She had enough. She walks closer, leaving a few feet of distance between her and Blaise. They bow and position themselves. She says in a firm voice, "No harm comes to Sherlock. A wizard duel remains between us. You do not hurt him, okay?"  
"Yeah yeah okay!" Hermione decides not to trust him. She relaxes her wrist and slyly casts a shield charm over Sherlock.  
"Ladies fir—!" she does not let him finish as she cries, "Expelliarmus!"  
But Blaise easily counters that. He retaliates with a mischievous grin, "Densaugeo!"  
That really pisses her off. She easily counters it with a shield charm. She says in a voice dripping with venom, "You Slytherins really love this spell, don't you? Deprimo!"  
Blaise fails to counter this when a strong gust of wind rushes out of her wand and knocks him off his feet. He crashes onto a table, breaking some more glass on his way.  
She turns around and says, "Move! Reducto!" The iron bars of the cage enclosing Lestrade burst, showering them both in rusty iron bits. Then she points the wand over Lestrade "Pondere Levarentur! Pick him up now! NOW SHERLOCK!"  
Sherlock likes to boast that he is never unnerved or out of his depth. Even with all the magic he had witnessed all along managed to simply surprise him but what he just witnessed right now was a whole other level of astonishment that he is finding difficult to grapple with. So excuse him for being so passive. But Hermione shouting in his face with her wild hair getting wilder still (he idly wondered if that is somehow due to magic as well) jerked him awake and he silently bent down to pick Lestrade up. He briefly wonders if he can carry the inert body of the Detective Inspector. He is a good deal heavier than him. But oh, sweet surprise, he felt as light as a feather now. So with relative ease, Sherlock swings Lestrade over his shoulder.  
Hermione keeps her wand up, similar to a knight holding his jousting stick. She snakes her way around the rumble and the knocked out Blaise and gets to the door. She glances behind to see Sherlock's progress. The spell had managed to lighten Lestrade's weight but that did not mean Sherlock was doing a very good job of carrying him. Lestrade, with his great bulk, hardly stayed on the consulting detective's wiry frame. She hopes Blaise will not get up now. But her prayers go unanswered.  
She hears a sound and turns around. It was Sherlock swearing. He had managed to let Lestrade slip off his shoulder, who had senselessly fallen on some broken glass. He looked unscathed but that little sound had stirred Blaise up. To their horror, they see Blaise get to his feet. Sherlock takes out his gun. He looks once at once at Sherlock and looks again at Hermione. He smiles and with a simple wave of his wand the gun whizzes out Sherlock's grip and flying through the air, falls to metallic clatter somewhere in the broken ruins of glass. Hermione gulps. She opens her mouth for a curse when her wand flies out of her hand as well.  
"You thought you could leave? Well, Jim said not to kill you guys. He never said anything about hurting you two," he turns to Sherlock, "I did hurt you once, didn't I?"  
"Really? I don't remember much," Sherlock says in his usual sarcastic tone. Hermione fights the urge to roll her eyes and smack her own forehead in sheer exasperation.  
"You are such a sarcastic little bitch Sherly."  
The use of the nickname jolts Sherlock. He scowls. Blaise continues, "Oh yeah, Magnussen, right. Where did you think he got all his information from? Well, not all, some maybe."  
"This," and Sherlock really means it, "Really, actually failed to surprise me."  
Blaise laughs, "In some parallel universe, you and Jim would have made a lovely pair! Nothing surprises you two!"  
"Blaise," Hermione speaks up, "Whatever you have to, just do it!"  
"Oh Granger, let me take my own sweet time. Your friends upstairs are okay, as far as I know. Though Jim wanted to have a word with John."  
Hermione knows she should summon her wand. She has done this kind of magic before. Non-verbal, without a wand. But she needs a distraction. She knew Blaise is stalling. He is setting up the anticlimax, but why? Well she will get to soon enough surely. She locks her gaze with Sherlock. She mouths "distract". She fervently hopes her favourite genius knew how to read lips. She jerks her head to Blaise's direction to help him.  
Sherlock at first does not get what Hermione tried to convey. Then with that tiny jerk off her head, he gets it. She wants to retrieve her wand. Well, all right then. He closes in on Blaise. He says warningly, "If anything happens to John—"  
"Oh no, nothing will happen to him now."  
Sherlock closes in some more. Blaise raises his wand in apprehension. Sherlock says, "So...are you his sidekick or personal pet?"  
Blaise gets thrown off. He breaks his satisfied-cat expression and fumbles, "W-what?"  
"No, it is just Jim once told me he'd like someone like John with him. Now, I don't see him as a pet. He is my friend. I was his best man at his wedding. And he has saved my life countless times. Now what has Jim ever done for you? I am curious."  
"He is my best friend!"  
"Really? Is he? I mean, he sends you to do all his dirty work. He rather not spoil his Westwood suits right?"  
"He gave me a second life!"  
"Oh really?" the sarcasm literally saturates his voice now. Hermione does the eye roll now.  
"Yes! Shut up! He did!"  
"I don't know, Blaise aka Sebastian. Did you know he had an older brother named Sebastian? Maybe he is simply projecting him on you. And your life in America. Hiding, getting shot at, Columbian drug lords hounding your rear. He never once suggested helping you, did he? I read your file—sorry, I mean Sebastian Moran's life and times in Miami, Florida," Sherlock comes closer to Blaise still, so now he has Blaise's complete attention, "But when he needed you and your magic, more importantly, he did not hesitate to call you. And look at you, like a faithful pet, you came wagging along."  
Hermione knew Sherlock was skating on thin ice. She could see the vein throb on Blaise's forehead. But she was also grateful to Sherlock for diverting Blaise's attention completely. She summoned her wand. Then two things happened at once.  
One, her wand flew back into her hand. Two, Blaise roared, "SHUT UP YOU ASSHOLE!" and bypassing his wand, solidly punched Sherlock in his face. He stumbled and neatly keeled over. Before Blaise could turn around and turn his attention to Hermione, she shouts, "Stupefy!"  
Blaise sways and falls. She exhales and slumps against the wall, a new problem now. Earlier there was one unconscious body, now they were two.

John lay there on the ground, ropes binding him completely. For the last few minutes he had to hear everybody's favourite psychopath talk. Thank God his mouth was tied too, or else he really had some choice words to say to Jim Moriarty.  
"...and so that is how I survived a gunshot in my brain. Well, of course, it wasn't my brain." He then, made a great show of looking at his watch, "You know, this really ruined my plans. John, do relay this to Sherlock—this is nothing. For ruining this game of mine, next round will be highly unpleasant. It won't happen tomorrow because I and my partner-in-crime have a few more places to visit and everything." His voice dips to glacial levels. "But do tell Sherlock, I will be back and he is going to get punished for not following my rules. Dear me, I wasn't going to skip to that idea but well...desperate time calls for desperate measures." With that he walks away humming 'Stayin' Alive' under his breath.  
John blinks a few times, trying to shake off the impending feeling of doom settling in him. He squirms a bit and looks over at his unconscious teammate. Poor git was still knocked out cold. Then a loud crack resonates. He moves his head sideways to see Hermione. She sighs, "Oh Merlin! You guys are okay! Here, Relashio."  
The ropes fall and disappear. John winces as the blood starts circulating again, hurting like somebody doing acupuncture without practice or experience. She then walks over to Draco and mutters something. He blinks his eyes open. He rubs his head and sits up. John gets to his feet. He asks, "Where is Sherlock?"  
"About that," she straightens up, "I need your help."

So now Hermione waits in front of the Zabini mansion. She sits on the porch with her chin tucked in her knees and the unconscious bodies of Lestrade and Sherlock at her feet. She had cleaned the blood that had matted Sherlock's hair. When he had fallen, his head struck the stone floor real bad. Bless the Gods above that he was still breathing, so is Lestrade. She is waiting for Draco to show up with the brooms. He had already apparated to his home with John. Between his mother, who dabbled in healer magic and John, a certified doctor, Draco was confident they would be fine.  
Brooms were both a good and a bad idea. Good, because the last time she apparated with a hurt Sherlock, he got splinched; she was not taking any chances. And bad because Merlin (and Madame Hooch) knew her aversion to brooms, flying and heights.  
She stands up when a crack resonates in the air. Draco had arrived with two brooms. She did not know much about broom make and model, but the two brooms in his hands looked sturdy and dependable enough. She takes a gulp and grabs the broom that he is extending towards her. He picks up Lestrade and grabbing him under his good hand, grabs the broom with his bad hand. It did not hurt as much. Hermione deft work and lying stupefied for a considerable period had healed him a little. Though he winces a bit when he readies himself for kickoff. Suddenly he realises Hermione is still standing, broom in her hand.  
"Everything okay?" he asks.  
"The one class I was horrible at was Broom Flight Class."  
Draco is a little astonished. He grins, "The Great Granger horrible at a class? Impossible!"  
"I don't-I really hate heights."  
"If you want, I can double back..."  
"No," she squares her shoulders. She casts the same charm—she had casted on Lestrade—on Sherlock. She picks him up and mimicking Draco's actions, nodding at him, kicks off the ground. She squashes her discomfort. As the broom slowly lifts off the ground, her fear tries to poke a hole through her courage, but she ignores it. For Sherlock, she reminds herself. He helped you back there, she says to herself, you can do this. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Draco take off the ground.  
"Granger you are doing great," Draco reassures her.  
"Y-Yeah," she says, not entirely trusting her voice.  
They soar over the sea of green to the Malfoy mansion. She asks, "Have you told your mother anything?" Maybe talking will distract her from the fact that she is hundred feet up in the air, her feet dangling in thin air.  
"I gave her a brief gist. She is going over her books."  
"I did not know your mother was a Healer."  
"She wasn't. She studied for it. But then my father happened. She was married off as soon she passed her exams. She had every wish to work, but then I happened." He laughs.  
She joins. "Draco? Thank you. For everything—and now you are letting us stay. If you weren't here today..."  
"It's okay Hermione. It is late and you cannot take DI Lestrade to a Muggle hospital. Consider this as me repenting for all my sins."  
The mood changed. She says, "In retrospect, maybe I never tried to understand you. I only saw you as an evil, spoilt, Slytherin brat. But..."  
"But?"  
"Do you know I didn't support Harry's idea back in our 6th year that you were a Death Eater? I thought, yeah you were bad, you can't be that bad."  
"Huh. I proved you wrong," hardness creeps into his voice, "I am not proud of that."  
"I know. I think you started repenting way back when we came here that first time around. I was being tortured, yes. But I did see how helpless you felt."  
"I did. If I helped you guys—"  
"You would be six feet under now."  
"Exactly. After all wouldn't we do everything to survive? To make sure our loved ones survive?"  
"Oh you reformed evil Slytherin, you make my soul weep!" she laughs bitterly.  
"So," he says. They were very near to the Malfoy mansion. She could see John standing the porch.  
"So?"  
"What exactly do you think about me now?" he says in low, soft, hopeful voice.  
She pauses. An odd feeling fills her heart. She looks down at Sherlock. Draco follows her gaze. He smiles sadly.  
She is in a real mess. There was her attraction towards her former nemesis, her new and growing feelings for the weirdest man with the most ridiculous name and then there was her reluctance to get into a relationship with somebody else because deep down the level of commitment she had previously with Ron is too scary to attempt again—it left her with a bitter taste.  
Their feet touch the ground. Before she gets down from her broom, she turns around and says, "Draco, I am not worth the wait."  
"But you are," he glances between Sherlock and her. She blushes when she gets his train of thought. He continues, "Maybe."  
"Maybe," she repeats. Futures are always such big maybes. She reached forward and softly squeezed Draco's hand. She did not know. She really did not.

This is completely new. He was awake. His eyes were fluttering and if she had seen it, she would have not said all those things. He had heard their conversation, from the point where Draco had mentioned how not proud he was if his teenage self. "Maybe"—it bounced around his head. It is enough for the awkward monster to rear its ugly head at Sherlock. No, he did not need to feel jealous, but he is. Somewhere between John carrying him to a room, where he had feigned consciousness to lying in the plush bed with the ornate ceiling, he felt it. He was mad—at himself and her. There, in his jumbled thoughts rose a new, odd, unknown feeling.  
Jealousy.

**A/N. I do not know if this helps, but I got to say this-I keep seeing Charles Michael Davis in my head as Blaise...o.o**


	19. Chapter 19

After checking in on Lestrade, who, Narcissa Malfoy was a hundred percent sure she could heal, Hermione decided to check on Sherlock. John did say he had regained consciousness.  
She wraps her arms around her chest. She takes a deep breath. She is really glad they had managed to save Lestrade in the nick of time. It was a perverted version of the Draught of The Living Death. If they had been any later then Lestrade would have slipped further and right out of their fingers. Luckily, Narcissa had all the necessary ingredients for a Wiggenweld potion, so she was making some and as soon as it would be done, she would give it to Lestrade. Bless her, Hermione thought, she had asked no questions when her son had shown up at her doorsteps with two unconscious bodies. Adding to that was also the arrival of three Muggles and one Muggleborn to wake her up from her slumber. Her hospitality and altruism really, but pleasantly, surprised Hermione.  
John had complained of pain, so she had sent him to bed with a simple sleeping potion. Draco was helping his mother. It is three or three thirty in the morning now. It would be dawn soon. She pushed open Sherlock's door.  
Sherlock had been given a guest room opposite her room. His room is, as expected, spacious, plush and tastefully decorated. Unlike the green decor she had come to expect wherever Slytherins were concerned (she is aware it is very racist of her to do so but old habits die hard), it is done in ecru and taupe. She peeps in. Panic swells in her. He is not in his bed! She enters the room and sighs in relief. He is eating, seated near the fireplace, with her back turned to him. She then, had to take a gulp and a mental somersault. He is shirtless. And he is not that wiry as she had always believed.  
He is still thin, but his shoulders are too big for his body and his back muscles were quite, well, developed. He is staring, unfocused into the fire, a sandwich half-eaten dangling from his hand. She shakes her head. Nope, now is not the time to appreciate the play of the warm orange light on his porcelain skin. She cleared her throat, "A penny for your thoughts."  
He slowly turned around and gives her a lopsided smile. He says, slowly, "I just got Moriarty's message for me."  
She summons the stool from the dressing table and sits down, facing him, near the fireplace. Gosh, the warm felt good, is her first thought. Her second thought is, oh, he has existing pectoral muscles, whoa. She really wants to poke her eyes with her wand.  
She asks, "What?"  
Sherlock puts the plate down on the carpet. She tries to ignore how that simple action makes his muscles flex. He even has ample biceps and triceps. It is a bit confusing. He does not eat regularly. He hardly moves at times. Where did his muscles come from? She shakes her head and tries to concentrate on his voice instead.  
"...the whole magic thing was Blaise's doing. Moriarty did not want to take the centre stage yet, that is why Blaise attacked us. He told John that he is planning something even more sinister next," he says. He leans back and closes his eyes.  
She too takes her eyes away from his naked chest and looks into the fire instead. The only sound that fills the room is their breathing and the crackling of moisture escaping the logs in the fireplace. She suddenly had an idea. "Sherlock?" he opened his eyes, "The bodies, they were part of his game right?"  
He leans forward. Their knees almost touch. He smirks, "Yes. We ruined it for him when Draco arrived at Baker Street. The game shifted and suddenly we had the upper hand."  
"Who were those poor dead chaps though?"  
"Either strangers," he shrugs, "Or people they knew. Blaise personally killed one of them."  
She frowns, "Blaise?"  
"Yes. The one corpse with the bullet from a rifle in his head. If you can remember, Moran was said to be quite a good shot."  
She nods her head. The file on Sebastian Moran did say that. She says, "It would also explain the Vanishing Cabinet. He placed one there and the other one at his mansion. Even though we did not find it..."  
"Maybe Lestrade can help."  
She focuses her gaze on Sherlock again. She says, "So...do we need to explain all this," she waves her hands, "To Lestrade as well?"  
"I don't know...I don't think he needs to know."  
"I can perform a memory charm."  
"A memory charm?"  
"Yeah. Erase his memory of this entire incident."  
"That would be better."  
Her eyes fall on a scar on his chest. It is small and does not look very old. She asks, pointing at the scar, "What is that?"  
He looks down. He says, "A gunshot wound."  
She sits up straight, alarm filling her. She says, "Wow. It is recent, I mean, before we met?"  
"Yes." He closes his eyes. She would like to ask him more but his body language tells her no. She keeps her questions to herself.  
"That duel thing was quite fascinating to watch," he says with a smile, after a pregnant pause.  
She smiles back, "I know. I had to shout at you to break your fascination."  
"You seemed very angry when Blaise said that spell—what was it? Ah yes, densaugeo?"  
She makes a choking noise. It alarms him. He asks, "Is it a dark curse or something?"  
"No no. It is a silly curse."  
"Silly curse?"  
She rubs her face. It was a silly story she had not told anyone ever. She shrugs her shoulder. Whatever goes. She says, "Blaise probably did that to make me mad, or check if I remembered something that happened to me in the fourth year at Hogwarts. I was buck toothed," he squints, she grins for his benefit, "It is not there anymore! So when I was fifteen, Draco, to attack Harry used that spell but it hit me instead. I was already buck toothed, and what the spell did was make my teeth even larger. My front teeth extended beyond my chin even! I was taken to the school nurse. When she reversed the spell, I did not stop her until my teeth were as you see now. Yes, I cheated, but I saw that opportunity to fix my teeth entirely."  
He leans back in his chair and arches an eyebrow. She asks, "What?"  
"Is that why he is so nice to you now?" he asks, in a flat tone. Is that what Draco Malfoy meant by "sins"?  
"Yes, maybe. If he did not arrive at Baker Street today we would not have been able to save Greg."  
"He arrived and destroyed Moriarty's plan. Whatever he does next will be even worse than before."  
She shivers. "So, do you think Draco will be in more danger?"  
Her tone annoys him. His voice gets flatter still when he says, "No. Draco Malfoy does not concern Moriarty." He does not add the "yet".  
She notices his nonchalant tone. She bristles when she says, "He helped us in so many ways and this is how you repay him? With indifference?"  
"Us? No no Hermione, don't be so deluded, he does everything for you." He did not want to get offensive but the words slipped before he could control it.  
The words hit the bull's-eye. She stands up. Her entire body is shaking with anger. He is right, she know it. And she despises it. He too gets to his feet. He fills her personal space. He says, "Am I right?"  
His blue eyes are mocking her, challenging her to prove him wrong. She crosses her arms, "So what? Why do you care exactly?"  
He did not expect her to get on the offensive. He feels at a sudden loss of words. He says, "Don't make this about me!"  
"Everything is always about you!" she is mad but she manages not to shout in his too perfect face. Why was he being such an asshole?  
He circles around her and dons that voice, the voice he never used around her after he had used it once while deducing her the first time. But this time, she is not impressed. He says, "You keep giving him hope. But with your track record in relationships, you do not exactly want to engage. So you should keep all the sentimental "maybes" to yourself."  
Her heart skips a beat. How could he...oh he was conscious then. This arrogant man. Her entire body is fighting the urge to snap or set birds loose at his head. She channels her inner Zen and says in a very calm voice when she finally pinpoints his problem. He is now standing behind her. She turns around and says, "You are jealous."  
As she hits the bull's-eye this time, he feels his ego cowering. She comes closer and using her index finger, she pokes him in the chest, her eyes narrowed, her hair frizzy and her voice, overwhelmed, "You. Are. Jealous," each break is punctuated by a poke, "You actually wanted to kiss me, I wasn't imagining things!"  
Of course she was not. But he finds his window. He grabs her hand and leaning down, puts his lips to her ear. He says, "Why did you kiss me then?"  
His stupid voice and his lips, just about touching her ear, pulps her defence to zilch. Haha, it was a real good question, her conscious registers. She laughs, accepting defeat, "You were going away. I thought I would never see you again. Plus, you sort of have nice lips."  
He laughs, his breath tickling her neck. He knows he wins this round. Her small hand is still cuffed by his larger hand. She puts her free hand on his sinewy neck. Merlin, she thought, if she knew how to draw, she'd set up an easel and start drawing him.  
Her touch reminds him to bring his gaze back to her face. The light from the fire danced across her face. The amber in her brown eyes glowed. He is not really unaware of how beautiful he found her at times.  
They did not need the fire burning in the fireplace. The air between them is so heated, so much friction. She could smell the clean soap scent off him. She could see the pulse throbbing on that neck of his. She can see his eyes, doubtful, expecting and a little scared.  
He knows this is a very bad idea. He cannot afford to do this. He whispers gruffly, "Hermione?"  
"Shhh," she says. She lightly brushes her lips against him. Like a feather. He breathes in that minute gesture. He knew she was smart and he knew she knew why he whispered her name as a warning. She places her head on her chest and clasps her hands around his waist. He can feel her trying to stabilise her breathing. He puts her arms around her as well. He breathes in the summer scent of her hair. Okay, he thinks to himself, it is January now, her hair cannot smell like that, it is definitely magic.  
She pulls back, but he is not ready to unwind his hands yet. She does not exactly look at him. He curls a finger under her chin and gently pushes her face up. Her soft gaze pierces him. His heart starts thumping too fast. He says, "I don't have the right to be jealous. Hermione, I am like not the rest of them, I am not—"  
"I know. I know. But sometimes, the rest of us mediocre mortals do inexplicable things," she says, "I am never doing this to you, or to me again. Promise." She softly places her lips on his again.  
This time she does not stop at simple contact. Neither does he. It is soft, but urgent. It is a seal on a secret, hoping to douse the flames.  
They stop. She takes a few more staggering breaths. She leaves his warm embrace and instantly misses his warmth. She decides not to look back as she traverses the length of the room and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind her.  
He exhales. He felt like he dodged a bullet but he feels like it was not worth it. However, he knows it is not nice for people to chase the things they never can be.


	20. Chapter 20

John is itching to know what is with the silence between Hermione and Sherlock. No mocking, no smartarse comments, no snarky comebacks, no smirking at private jokes. It is slightly unnerving.  
But then this day began unnervingly. First, he was woken up by a weird mousy creature ("House-elves," Hermione had explained) with a squeaky voice, huge eyes and tendency to talk in third person who offered him tea and informed breakfast was going to be served downstairs. He nearly went into cardiac arrest. Second, he got lost in that immense house (how rich were wizards exactly?). A painting, graciously, pointed him the right way. Third, he had to manage not to gape at Narcissa Malfoy—yes she was much older than him, but he does not think he has met anyone that majestic, poised and dignified. Fourth, was the elaborate story fed to Lestrade, which bitterly reminded him of the days when these two kept him in the dark.  
"You were kidnapped...Yes...No...You weren't well...This is the house of a friend of Hermione's...Where are we...Wiltshire."  
So they had explained to Lestrade who was still quite groggy after Hermione had sabotaged his memory slightly. But they had got to know what happened with him.  
Lestrade had locked himself in that cabinet and then when he tried pushing the door, it had opened on its own. But he was quite shocked to see he was not in the same place anymore. He then met Sebastian Moran, sitting opposite him with a glass of water in his hand. Lestrade had questioned but Moran never answered him. Then he was forced to drink the liquid in the glass which was not water at all. It tasted "funky". Then he remembers nothing. He had nice dreams, though. That is why he had panicked so much when he woke up. He was living in his dream, completely unaware of his surroundings. Narcissa Malfoy said that the effect of the Draught of the Living Death usually is a dreamless, death-like slumber. They must have tweaked the potion to trap him in a pleasant fantasy.  
Now they were on the A303, driving towards Westminster, Greater London. Hermione is in the back with Lestrade and John is in the passenger seat with Sherlock driving. It is an approximately two hour fifteen minute drive. So far it has been around an hour or so and still no real conversation between Hermione and Sherlock. It is seriously bothering John to no end.

Hermione wished she could perform a memory charm on herself as well. If she could erase everything she said and did last night. "Hermione"...oh how she wishes he had not said her name like that! She wished that he could have pushed her away, humiliated her and send her on her way. But he had not. And that is her problem. He made her acknowledge that she did like him a lot. She hated him for that. Just a little bit. No, not really, she hated him now but she knows this grudge will not hold for very long.  
Sherlock's eyes were on the road but his mind is far away. He did not know why he did not stop her or himself last night. He did not like this awkward silence they shared now. He can pretend all he wants, his mind palace may warn him all it wants—but he knows he hates it how she is refusing to look at him even. He needs to do something about it. And soon. This radio silence is annoying.  
Hermione knows her silent treatment will not work. And how old is she? Not sixteen, because teenagers do that—their object of adoration do not reciprocate and they ignore said object religiously. She is a mother of two children and was previously married. And the worst ever was that he reciprocated which made things hundred times more confusing than it already was. Maybe she needs a break, from Sherlock Holmes for awhile but then a nagging voice reminded her that Jim Moriarty really erased all possibility of a "break".  
Sherlock gripped the steering wheel tighter. This is all her fault. Then the tiny, irritating voice (it kind of sounded like Mycroft's voice) tells him, "Oh really?" Well, there was that, it was not _all her_ fault. He did reciprocate which made everything a little worse. But in his defence, he is not like other men. He never had feelings like this for anyone, ever. He really wanted to shout at her and then probably kiss her again. The way his direction was taking, as he concentrated (read, tried to concentrate) on the road got him afraid. This was new. He does not like 'new'.  
From the backseat, beside a slumbering Lestrade, she could see his dark curls dancing along the wind's directions. As the memory of their lusciousness lodged in her brain, she really wanted to apparate herself to Baker Street. But no magic allowed now, for the detective inspector's benefit. She checks her watch. Two hours have elapsed already. They were at the toll zone on Constitution Hill. They would get to Westminster in a few more minutes. She relaxed back in her seat. Sleep had eluded her on the drive, so now she wished for a nice hot shower and then her dear comforting bed. She can pick up Rose from Ginny's later. She will stop ignoring him, but that day or hour is not today or now. Tomorrow, she will see.

Nearing midnight, Sherlock jolts awake from his chair. He had fallen asleep but for awhile. His violin rested on his lap. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at the polished veneer of the wood. The bow had fallen to the ground. He picks it up, runs the flesh of his finger down the taut edge. He looks down at said finger, Hermione's gift, and the runes on the band shining bright in the dark. He had a really odd little dream.  
It was surreal, faintly preternatural. He could not explain it. He generally had no dreams, but this surprised him. In his dream, he was alone. It was a dark place and he could hear music. But the music was unknown. He had never heard it anywhere. It was unworldly. He did not believe in the supernatural, but he did now after his experience of the past few months. But this could not be supernatural because if it was he knew he would find an explanation. The dream began without a meaning and ended without a meaning. In between, he heard that sweet, haunting violin playing and then he saw something else in that dark place. A sweet scent first hit his olfactory senses. When he turned there was a little branch of flowers glowing on the ground. It was glowing violet-blue. The miniscule light filled him. He picked it up but just when he was about to try and give a name to the flower, the dream ended—the scent and the shape of the flower engraved in his mind.  
He had woken up to the runes on the ring glowing. He is wondering if the ring had to do something with his dream. He could ask the gift-giver but he doubts she would respond. He closes his eyes and tries remembering the notes of the ghostly music. He does not think twice before he grabs his notebook.

She is afraid. The message was short. It brought her here. In retrospect, it seemed a good scoop, a good way for some extra cash, but now she is afraid. Maybe it was a bad idea, what with all that has happened recently. She pulls her coat tighter.  
It was close to her bedtime, but she wanted to finish her report before tucking in. Then her new email notification came to life. She opened it. She read it and got excited. So she sacrificed sleep, donned her winter wear and left the cosy confinements of her warm apartment to brave the cold and get to her instructed destination.  
Sure, there is her trusty pepper spray in her bag, she can do this. She knocks on the rickety door. It swings open to reveal solid darkness. She could not see a single thing inside. She squints. She gulps down. That was spooky. She tiptoes in and says, "Hello?"  
"You came," a strong male voice scares her from behind. She yelps and turns around, her heart in her throat. He is blocking the light that came from the hallway. He shoves her inside. Her hands dive into her handbag to get to her can of pepper spray. He laughs, "No need." And like that, she can no longer move. Her limbs freeze. He pushes her deep into the room. The back of her knees touches a hard surface and she topples over. She could not brace herself from the fall and her head slaps hard against the floor.  
Suddenly, she feels movement in her limbs. She cries, "Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Tears fill her her eyes and spills. Stupid girl, she scolds herself.  
"No one. I am just tying up loose ends."  
A green light, all of a sudden, flashes from him and then nothing.  
He pockets his wand. He walks to the fireplace. His niece had said it would work and finish things off neatly. And he trusted her. So he clutches the floo powder in his palms and steps inside the sooty fireplace. He shouts out his destination which no one else is breathing to hear what he said and disappears into green flames.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Harry also hated late night emergency calls. He stumbles in his office and finds his assistant, Levin and Ron, with their backs turned to him, their heads bowed down and whispering.  
"It's two in the morning. This better be special," Harry grumbles. His tall, lithe, sandy-haired assistant Levin Dobrev, stares impassively at him, a cup of coffee in his hand. Harry takes it and blesses his erstwhile expressionless assistant.  
Ron with his serious face on should have been indication enough but Harry's caffeine deprived brain was not in the processing or "Auror" mood. Ron says, "You are going to not like this."

Molly wonders why she does not really hate middle-of-the-night autopsies. She sent the dental samples of to the DNA lab sixty five minutes ago. She hums softly to herself. The poor corpse in front of her is of a woman. She is badly burned so dental samples were the only way of getting any idea about who she was. Molly says a silent prayer for her.  
She is desensitised to bodies decomposing, but she cannot stand the charred smell of burnt human flesh. Or the sight of it and she has seen everything when it comes to death. She sadly wonders who she could have been and why did she have to die in such a horrible way?  
The Jane Doe was shot first and then burned. Whoever burned her also managed to burn an entire floor of an empty apartment building. What was she doing there in the first place?  
Before she could answer herself, the door opens behind her. She frowns. That is too quick for dental identification. So she turns around and surprise is her next emotion.  
It is a very tired looking Mycroft Holmes, accompanied by a younger man with unruly dark hair and bright green eyes shielded by wire frame glasses. There is one thing common between them. Their solemn expressions.

Dewey Trevor was a little terrified first. After all he has been a huge fan of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived…Twice. But then he squashed his awe when he realised he would have work to do.  
"So how does thing work?" Harry asks while pointing his finger at the small device in Trevor's hand which looked like something a cross between a mobile phone and a GPS tracker.  
"It picks up any kind of magical creature energy. I am, sir, a Muggleborn. I had been tweaking Muggle technology and magical mechanics for years. When I started working here, I heard how difficult it had become to successfully trace magical beasts. So I mashed an electronic trace, err, actually, it is ectoplasmic trace locater," Dewey stopped.  
Levin said, "Yeah. Crazed Muggles use it to locate ghosts. Moving on…" Ron and Harry shoot glimpses at the otherwise stern former Ravenclaw Pureblood wizard.  
"So, my device, instead of picking up ghosts, picks up magical energy. It took a few years but I managed to tweak it enough. And today, when that building at Chipping Barnet went up in flames, the Beast Finder pinged."  
"This small thing?" Ron asks, incredulity still colouring his voice.  
"Yes sir. It is actually connected to a larger device, but uh, yes. So it picked up magical activity in Barnet. It was an ashwinder. It is born of magical flames left neglected. I reckon it was a floo network. But by the time we got there, the police had already arrived. Apparently a body had been discovered in the apartment where the fire started. The firemen had doused the flames. But we needed to find the remaining eggs—"  
"Eggs?" Ron asked.  
"Ashwinder. Born out of neglected magical flames. It is harmless, except when it hatches eggs, which are highly inflammable. It is always imperative to destroy their eggs. Mr Trevor and team did not get there soon enough," Levin informs, much to his chagrin. Heroes of the Second Wizarding War and they do not know about ashwinders.  
"But we managed to destroy the remaining eggs, after performing memory charms on everybody present," Dewey hopes they notice he followed protocol in spite of his tardiness, "Anyway, the problem arose when I heard the policemen talking before we sabotaged their memory. A policeman was talking to the landlord, asking about the apartment and such. The landlord said that the apartment was rented to a woman named Marianne Zabini." He ended with a loud whoosh of air.  
Harry rubs the bridge of his nose. He mutters, "Marianne Zabini."  
"You had put an alert on her," everybody stares at Dewey. How can a mid-level Department of Magical Creatures employee know about a secret collaboration between the British and French government? Dewey answers them, blushing, "My girlfriend works here."  
Levin dismisses Dewey and says, "We looked her up. She is Blaise Zabini's neice."  
"But the question is, who is the dead person?" Ron asks.  
"Ron?" Harry springs to action, "Don't let anyone know this. Levin, make sure Mr Trevor and team don't let this news trickle out." He starts walking to the door.  
Ron shouts, "Where are you going?"  
"To the British government himself!" Harry answers.

"Dr Hooper, this is Harry Potter. And Mr Potter, this is Dr Molly Hooper, pathologist extraordinaire," Mycroft says.  
Molly takes the hand the newcomer extends. A funny feeling rests in her stomach. If Mycroft Holmes has taken the pains to come here, that could only mean something serious. She airs her suspicion aloud, "Are you here, by any chance, about the burn victim from Barnet?"  
Mycroft smiles, "See Mr Potter? What did I say? Brilliant indeed. Yes, Dr Hooper, I am here because of that."  
"Oh," she murmurs. Slightly louder she says, "It has not been identified."  
"I expect the results to arrive soon?" Mycroft asks, as genial as always.  
Molly checks her watch, "A few more minutes."  
So, Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes and Harry Potter spend twenty five minutes in complete silence, each stewing in their thoughts.  
Harry Potter is grateful for Mycroft Holmes' efficiency. As soon as he had arrived at his residential and mentioned the name "Zabini", Mycroft had sprung to action. He had called a few people and got to know where the body went in less than an hour. Then they had headed straight here, at St Barts. His phone vibrates. It is Ginny. He sends her a short message.  
Molly has her eyes on the computer. Her hands are logging in all the necessary information but her mind is far away. Why is Mycroft Holmes here? Who is that man? She had promised she would be home soon but who knows how long all this will take? She grabs her mobile phone and sends a message to Lestrade. He will worry when he wakes up and then not find her there beside him.  
Mycroft Holmes picks at an imaginary speck of dirt under his nail. He is worried. He reminds himself to update his little brother soon. At the thought of his brother, another thought floats up. According to Anthea, Hermione had not visited Sherlock in a while. Her daughter would go upstairs occasionally, only to be disappointed at times when Sherlock would not be immersed in some new unhygienic experiment on his kitchen counter. He had not been around at St Barts either for four days. Strange indeed. He wonders what got his brother so distracted from stolen body parts. Apparently it was the relentless violin playing. He needs to pay a visit soon.  
The door finally opens. The young woman is a little taken aback at the presence of two new people in the morgue at this hour, but reigns in her curiosity. She places the file in Molly's hand. She does not say anything, but remains in the room.  
Molly says, "Thank you Pearl. Okay," she opens the file. When her eyes fall on the identity of her burnt cadaver, her heart skips a beat and dread settles.  
"Yes, very surprising indeed." A familiar male voice speaks up. Molly stops breathing as Mycroft jumps up from his seat. Harry takes out his wand because the voice came from the woman apparently named Pearl.  
When Molly realises that Pearl is talking in Moriarty's voice, she nearly faints. Pearl-but-not-her comes closer to Molly. "Hello Molly. Remember me?"  
The door opens once again and this time a petite blonde woman enters. She points a stick at her and she faints. Mycroft rushes over as Harry prepares to attack. He hisses, "Marianne!"  
"Precisement!" she chirps and stuns Harry as Moriarty stops Mycroft by one swift blow at his temple.  
The skins starts to move. Brown hair shortens to a crop. Delicate forehead gives way to a large sloping forehead. Smooth skin gets covered in scruff. The light blue of the eyes changes to murky brown. The height shoots up a little. Suddenly, Marianne giggles.  
Moriarty snaps, "What?"  
"Your outfit!" she breaks into a prolonged fit of giggles. He looks down. A bark of laughter escapes from him too. The lilac sweater with the feline silhouette print and black skirt do look funny on him. She stops laughing and says, "What about that?" she points to the piece of paper with the lab results.  
He grins, "Call Blaise. He will help you with Harry and Molly. Leave the paper and Mycroft here. Let him find it. Let him know what happens when he breaks the rules to the game."  
He turns around, ready to leave when she asks, "Where are you going?"  
He cocks his head to the side. He has his phone in his hands. He says, "Curiosity killed the repulsive cat…does that sound okay?"  
She simply shrugs as he leaves the morgue and leaves her behind, slightly confused.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock does not get the message till it is ten in the morning. He had let the battery of his phone die hours prior. It was only when he noticed that he plugged in the charger. Then he had completely forgot about it. He had slept for a few hours. The same dream again. Then he woke up and tried fixing his tea when Lestrade barges in.  
"Sherlock!" Lestrade shouts.  
Sherlock says from the kitchen, "Here. What is the hurry? Who died?"  
Lestrade comes into the kitchen. His agitated appearance alarms Sherlock. He stands up and puts the tea cup down on the counter, sensing turbulence. He says, "What is it?"  
"Molly," Lestrade breathes, "Did you not get the messages?"  
Sherlock grabs his phone. Sure, there are two messages from Lestrade, one from Anthea and one from an unknown number. He opens that. His eyes widen. Just what he was mostly afraid of. He disappears into his bedroom and comes out fast, putting his arms in the coat sleeves. "Let's go," he solemnly says and gestures Lestrade to follow as he races down out of his flat.

Ginny apparates in the alley. She hopes Hermione might be able to help her. Harry would never do that to her. She walks to the designated building. The door is open. She walks in and heads to 221C. She stands in front of the door. She can hear Hermione and Rose talking. She takes a deep breath and knocks.  
Hermione's head swivels at the knock on her door. She opens it and comes face to face with a teary-eyed Ginny Potter. As soon as the door is opened, fresh tears run down Ginny's pale face. Hermione grabs her elbows and drags her inside. She pushes her former sister-in-law into the kitchen and gets her a glass of water. She can ask what is wrong as soon as Ginny stops crying. She makes eye contact with her daughter. Rose nods as she quietly retreats to her bedroom.  
Ginny finally stops. She hiccups and brings the glass to her lips. She takes a long gulp and puts down the glass on the counter with shaky fingers. Hermione rubs her shoulder and asks, "What is it?"  
"Harry has disappeared," Ginny says.  
"What?" Hermione sits down.  
"He got an emergency call near two. He left. A couple of hours later, he sent me a text saying he will be back whenever possible. Then about an hour ago, I get a call from Ron that he cannot find Harry," Ginny speaks, her voice trembling.  
"Did Ron know where he went?"  
"Yes. Apparently he went to the British government himself. What the hell does that mean?"  
Hermione startles. She grabs her phone and tries Mycroft's number. It is switched off. She then tries his office. The number gets connected and she hears it ring. After a breathless twenty seconds, the phone gets picked up. Hermione exclaims, "Anthea?"  
"Sorry, Anthea is not here," a disinterested male voice answers her instead.  
"Where is she?"  
"The hospital with the boss."  
She inhales raggedly. Mycroft is in the hospital? She asks, "Which hospital?"  
"I am sorry—"  
"Listen you little prick, I am Hermione Granger and I do not have the time for your little diplomatic games. Tell me which hospital and no one gets hurt. Especially you, when your boss will get to know you did not help the woman very friendly with his little brother—Sherlock, ring any bells?" She nearly snorts at the "very friendly" part.  
She hears him gulp. He says warily, "St Barts."

Sherlock asks Lestrade to leave him alone with Dr Pearl Foster. He sits down opposite her and asks, "From the beginning and don't lie. I will know when you are being dishonest."  
"I was waiting here, in my lab," she begins, "When I passed out. Then I woke up, I realised I was not wearing any clothes. But my clothes were neatly folded on the table. At first I thought I was sexually abused but soon realised that was not so. Then I saw that the lab result were missing."  
"What lab results?"  
"Wait," she turns around and hits the print icon, "Then I ran to the morgue, worried about Molly. She was not there. A man was there, on the ground, bleeding from his temple. Thankfully, he was alive." The printer slowly regurgitates the paper with the result. She grabs it, "The first printout was spoiled and the police pocketed it. Here," she extends it towards Sherlock.  
Before reading the paper in his hands, he asks, "What man?"  
"Someone named Mycroft Holmes," she says casually and then when realisation hits her, she gasps.  
Sherlock had jumped from his chair and nearly ran out of the room by then.

Hermione, with long steps reaches the room in which Mycroft was. She can hear Ginny behind her, trying to keep up. She pushes the door. Mycroft is awake but he does not look very good. His head is bandaged, his face pale and eyes, half-closed. She also spots a woman dressed exquisitely who could only be Anthea, beside the bed, a phone in her hand. Her head jerks up and she says, "Yes?"  
"I am Hermione Granger. If you'd remember, we talked on the phone," Hermione says politely.  
Anthea stands up. She smiles brightly. Hermione ruefully admits that she is rather beautiful but somehow appeared cold and distant. She says, "Good to finally meet you in person." Then she gets her bag and says, "I suppose you need to talk to Mr Holmes alone. If you would excuse me." As she walks out she notices the presence of the red haired woman. Ginny feels highly conscious in her worn out jeans and handmade sweater when the impeccably attired woman briefly scrutinises her. She sighs when Anthea leaves. Right now, she is a little too befuddled to question her sartorial choices and instead questions the company Hermione keeps.  
Mycroft weakly smiles, "Yes, Ms Granger, I was wondering when you would come. And is that Mrs Potter?"  
Ginny cannot hide her surprise. Hermione wryly grins, "Ginny meet Sherlock's elder brother, Mycroft Holmes. He is our Muggle government liaison personnel. Harry went to him. I wonder why?"  
"Ah yes. About that, a body had been discovered at an apartment building destroyed by magical fire. Dr Hooper was doing the autopsy. The apartment where the body was found and where the fire started belonged to Marianne Zabini," Mycroft says.  
Hermione gets startled again. She asks, "Whose body?"  
"Kitty Riley," the familiar voice resounds behind her. She does not need to look behind her to know to whom that voice belonged to.

Moriarty attacked his brother. He was seething. Moriarty also kidnapped Molly. He is going to make sure that this time, Jim Moriarty really stays dead. He is about to violently push back the ajar door when he sees her through the gap.  
She had her back turned to him but the sight of those familiar wild, messy hair halted him and made him a little less angry. Besides the weird feelings, her question stuns him. The universe is, really, rarely that lazy.  
He answers her question, "Kitty Riley." He knows from the way the little hair on her neck stood up to straightening her back, they were going to have a hard time collaborating now when collaboration was seriously necessary. He saw her shoulders rise and fall. Good, she was as aware of the difficulty as he was.  
Hermione is acutely aware that shrewd little Mycroft Holmes is recording her every action. She is a hundred percent sure that he would go analyse all this later.  
Yes, Hermione is right. Mycroft records all that he sees. From his brother stealing glances at her to Miss Granger to her doing deep breathing exercises. He came to one solid conclusion. He is neither surprised nor dismayed.  
Then thankfully Ginny interjected, "Who is Kitty Riley?"  
To be honest, the name did sound familiar to Hermione but she could not recall it. Sherlock and Mycroft share a look. Sherlock clears his throat. He gets closer to Ginny. He dons his best benevolent stare and tries to project as much concern as genuinely possible through the words he wanted to say, "Ginny I know you are worried for Harry and you should. But now you have to leave it to us to bring him back home safely. Please."  
His performance greatly impressed Hermione. Obviously no one wants Ginny to be involved as well. It was already a little too convoluted. Also because Hermione knew what Ginny would do for Harry. The red head is as fierce as they get. Sometimes she was just a tad bit jealous of the love Ginny and Harry had for each other.  
Not only Hermione, even Ginny seemed convinced except for the tears that pooled in her eyes. Hermione stood up to comfort her friend. However, Ginny swayed and put her head on Sherlock's shoulder. Even if he was a bit taken back, he did the socially acceptable thing and patted her back. Hermione hears Ginny mumble, "You-you don't get it. I nearly lost him three times, I can no longer deal with losing him all over again. Ever. Just," her voice chokes, "bring him back."  
"We will," Sherlock reassures. Ginny leaves his embrace and gives him a watery smile. Hermione says, "Go home James, Albus and Lily need you. We will inform you of anything new."  
Ginny nods. She allows Hermione to take her elbow and direct her outside. Outside Mycroft's room, Ginny hugs Hermione. She says, "You kept Harry alive all those years ago, if I could trust anyone to do this right, it is you. Also Sherlock I guess because he is real smart. I got to cope a feel though. He solid!"  
In spite of her discomfort, she laughs out loud. She pulls back and says, "You are despicable."  
Ginny simply shrugs, "I'm married not blind." Again, she feels the tears forming. She smiles and says her goodbyes.  
Hermione watches her friend leave. She knows Ginny will be strong. She waited for Harry then. Even though this is now, Hermione knows Ginny will persevere. She greatly hopes so. Now, she thinks as she prepares to push the door, to face my own hopeless cause.  
Sherlock had taken the only seat. He is about to stand up and give her his seat when she softly shakes her head and conjures a chair. He smiles, quiet helplessly. Her magic skills greatly amuse him still.  
She sits down. She turns her head sideways to look at Sherlock. Her internal "Act cool, act rad" chant goes downhill when her eyes lock onto his intensely vivid blue-now-green-then eyes. Damn it, her heart skips and betrays her attempt at "cool", so she tears away from his gaze and decides to make eye contact with his coat lapel instead. Her cool marginally returns. She injects as much professional she can in her tone and asks, "How do you know who the corpse is?"  
Sherlock starts from the moment Lestrade barged in to his interrogation of Dr Pearl Foster. She comments, "It was Moriarty disguised as Dr Foster with the help of Polyjuice potion. I guess he bought Marianne Zabini along."  
"And that is where I come in," Mycroft says, "Harry got an alert when an empty apartment building in Chipper Barnet went up in smoke due to magical fire. The firemen responded as usual. They found Riley's body in the apartment where the fire started. Harry got involved when the landlord mentioned that the owner of said apartment was Marianne Zabini." He leans further back into the pillow. Talking had exhausted him.  
"Why does her name sound familiar?" Hermione asks.  
"She was the one who wrote the article that defamed me and showed Moriarty's innocence. Word was, she had disappeared after Moriarty had fake killed himself. Now it seems like Moriarty might have something to do with her going underground. She came back up a month before his 'resurrection'", Sherlock says, the last line he spat out bitterly.  
"Oh that fangirl," Hermione mutters.  
"Moriarty send me a message," he passed his phone to Hermione. She reads it aloud, "Curiosity killed the repulsive cat. What?"  
"I called her repulsive." Hermione, out of the sheer force of habit, rolled her eyes. "What was she doing at that place?"  
She murmurs, "Maybe they called her."  
"She was always rather desperate for the scoop."  
"The scoop. We need to know what really happened."  
"To Scotland Yard then?"  
"Yes." They rise simultaneously, in the thrill of the chase, their momentary awkwardness forgotten. Mycroft raises his eyebrows. This is interesting.

They are in a cab, heading towards Victoria. As soon as they get into the cab, silence fell on them again. Then Hermione had enough. She says, "Sherlock?"  
Sherlock was busy staring out of the window, trying to organise his thoughts, when she jerked out of his mind palace. He stutters, "Y-yes?" His heart betrays his mind and he suddenly finds himself thankful and happy that she chose to talk to him.  
"I am sort of afraid." She did not want to admit this to him, but she found the words spilling from her lips anyway. He looks her, his gaze softening. She continued, "I am afraid of what Moriarty has in store."  
He rubbed his lower lip. He whispers, "To be honest, I am worried too. Why would he kidnap both Harry and Molly?"  
"Molly helped you fake your death right? I mean, she was in the know from the very beginning?"  
"Yes."  
"Maybe that is why he took her. She was important to you and your entire plan. He probably hates her the most."  
He leans back in his seat. He looks out the window again. The city rushes by him. The pedestrians on the pavement, walking, smiling, talking, completely oblivious to the impending apocalypse. In fact, Sherlock is pondering in the back of his mind why Moriarty chose to attack personally.  
She frowns. A nagging thought lodges in her brain. She fans it out aloud, "Molly helped you just like that? Faking death means faking documents and sabotaging documents cannot be happy news for a pathologist. She might have lost her licence."  
"She might have," he smiles wryly, "but she was too much in love with me to care."  
"What?" she asks, surprised.  
"Yes. I know, sounds impossible. And maybe it is. I am not the kind of person anyone falls for. Ah! We are here! How much?"  
He quickly pays the fare and opens his door. While, Hermione sits there, a little flabbergasted. She shakes her head. Nope. Now is not the time to think about "highly-functioning sociopaths" and their emotional problems.  
Why did he just say that? Sherlock regrets. Why would he tell her that? Why? He pushes the issue deep down. He needs to concentrate on the case at hand. He locates Lestrade, flustered and anxious, barking orders on the phone in his office. He asks, "Anything?"  
Lestrade shoots a weary, upset look and slumps down in his chair. He rubs his face, he says, "Nothing."  
Hermione nearly bumps into Sherlock on her way in to Lestrade's office. Her eyes fall on the once stoic, jovial Detective Inspector, slumped on his chair and her heart constricts. To not know where your loved one is and what they are doing and if they are okay or not, is just painful. Her mind flashes back to the time when Ron had taken off and she had cried and cried, being completely in the dark and helpless to help. She never wants to feel like that again, but thanks to Moriarty she had fallen into the emotional vortex again. Oh Merlin, she prays fervently they are okay. She hopes she can fulfil her promise of bringing Ginny's husband back home safely.

"Where are we?" Molly asks. It is dark. The room, not the day outside. She is in a bedroom where the windows are boarded up. The sunlight entered the room in a fickle ribbon and illuminated the rug at her feet. In that feeble light, she sees the quaint floral wallpaper and the mattress-less, frame of the bed supporting her back. Her companion, fellow kidnapee, Harry Potter is beside her, his head in his hands. At her query, he looks up. He answers, "No bloody idea."  
She leans back on the bed and sighs. "Moriarty won't spare me."  
"Why?" Harry asks, frowning.  
"I am the reason Sherlock is alive."  
His frown deepens. She clarifies, "I helped Sherlock fake his death."  
"Oh." Then why is he here?  
"I don't know why you are here though? How do you know Mycroft?"  
"I am Hermione's friend."  
"So Hermione and you work together?"  
He contemplates his answer. Should he tell her or not? If Moriarty is here that would very obviously mean that Blaise is here too. So magic will be involved no matter what they are planning. And they have his wand. He decides to bypass the reality and says, "Yes. Kind of."  
She giggles, "Hermione is very nice. I like her."  
"She is great. I hope she finds us."  
"Oh she surely will. Hermione and Sherlock are quite a team, aren't they?"  
"Yes. They sure are." He grins impishly.  
Molly grins, totally getting his chain of thought, "I guess we both think alike."  
"Ha, we do!"  
"I guess you are becoming fast friends." They turn their heads around. Moriarty stands in the doorway. He smiles down at them, a mischievous glint in his cold, dead eyes.  
Harry jumps to his feet. He growls, "What do you want?"  
Molly slowly gets to her feet, her heart racing and her lungs laboured for oxygen. She knew, that even if Harry was spared, she will not be. Her darkest fears get confirmed when Jim makes eye contact with her. The smile drops as he says, "Ah, Molly. Great to see you again. Really. To be honest you are the one I really wanted but then I got a bonus!" He claps his hand and looks at Harry.  
"Why are you doing this?" she asks in a soft, shaking voice.  
"Why? This is personal. Last time I strapped bombs to random strangers. It was fun but not so much fun. I promised I would burn his heart out. Don't know why I hoped he would really kill himself, but not surprised that he faked it. He destroyed ninety percent of my network. So this time it will not be so easy. This time, Sherlock will burn, real bad." He laughs. His cold, soulless laughter sends shivers up her arms. Harry gulps.  
His maniac laughter stops. He runs a hand through his hair. He says, "You were real nice to me Molly. I kind enjoyed your company. But this is not about you so don't take it personally, Molls." He drums his fingers on the doorframe, throws one last smile at her direction and struts away.  
"How does he know you?" Harry has to ask.  
She sighs. She sits back down again. She stretches her neck and looks at him. She says, "It is a long story."


	23. Chapter 23

Harry had no idea where they were being taken. A few minutes ago, Blaise (as he had expected) and Moriarty came along. Molly was petrified, but he admired how well she did not show it, thereby giving no the satisfaction to their captors. They grabbed them and pushed them out of the door, while Molly gave no resistance, Harry tried but was discouraged when Blaise poked his wand between his ribs. Harry realised where he was then. Pansy Parkinson aka Dahlia Delacour's old apartment. Hermione had told him about the Fidelus Charm incident.  
Then they pushed them down stairs and on to the street. Night was falling. Well, obviously one must not parade kidnapped people in broad daylight, he muses ruefully. He spots a car, with its engine running, idling by the curb. Blaise, the stronger of the two, pushes them in the car. He sees Marianne at the wheel. She turns around and charms a gag around their mouths. Molly's eyes widen in surprise. She locks her gaze with Harry, who keeps his expression blank.  
Then Blaise hits Molly at the base of her skull. She closes her eyes and her head droops forward, her chin resting on her chest.  
Moriarty, who had sat down in the passenger seat, turns around to look at him and says, "Well, to be honest, I am going to kill her. She counted the most." The car jumps forward. Blaise gets more comfortable beside Harry. Moriarty continues, "She and her former crush did me too much damage. Do you see what I am doing Mr Potter?"  
Harry shoots a glare. If he had the power to kill with looks, it would have been awesome now. Moriarty laughs, "Of course you don't. Sherlock Holmes has been the only person in this world who could be called a worthy rival. I thought I had won three years ago, but alas! Then again, he did not know I would fake it as well. I promised him I would burn the heart out of him. I did not burn it enough. He still lived. So this time I made it more personal. I started attacking, in the scale of 'yes I care-to-yes I love', the people in his life. First Mrs Hudson, then Rose, then Lestrade and now Molly—all the people he cares about. It was going great. I was winning. Yes. It might have seemed he won, but no, he was just passing all the levels of a game. Then I lost last round." His cheer drops. He sneers, "And that is why sweet little Molly Hopper dies. A reminder to Sherlock Holmes that this is what happens when you don't play by the rules. You win some, you lose more." He jerks his thumb at Blaise, "As to you, he will take care of you. Ah we are here!"  
Harry looks out the window. What are they doing here? He also spots a huge black owl that lands on the bonnet. But before he can fathom the circumstances, he feels a sharp stab of pain at the base of his skull and blackness engulfs him.

"I guess that was a trip wasted," Hermione mutters as she pokes her lunch. She really did not feel like eating but realised she needs to have sustenance. The day had only begun and the game had just started. She cannot afford to have low blood sugar levels. She stabs the fork through the ravioli and thrusts it into her mouth. She chews it steadily and looks at her companions.  
There was Lestrade who had a Panini in front of him, but he is just staring at it. His partner, Sally Donovan chewed her salad dish like a robot. Levin Dobrev had joined them too. He forcefully became a part of this group and insisted his involvement as Harry is his boss. He is carefully chewing his sandwich and mentally rating his companions—Hermione can see the cogs of his wheel working through his complacent grey eyes. And then there was Sherlock, who got his nourishment through air. He was not eating. He has his fingers steeped under his chin and his eyes were closed.  
They had arrived at Chipping Barnet with hopes of finding evidence. So far it was a bust. They did not know what was the source of the fire (Levin, Hermione and Sherlock knew). Marianne Zabini lived here briefly. Sometimes a tall, dark man came to visit. When showed the picture of Kitty Riley, no one recognised her. But they had found her computer and with it the anonymous email that had sent her scurrying to Barnet. It was a scoop. An "important" scoop about Sherlock. It was bait, and Kitty Riley had fallen for it.  
So they had ambled back to Westminster and decided to grab lunch before going any further. She had called Ginny and had let her know. She knew Ginny held back the sob trying to escape from her throat. As for Lestrade, she did not quite know what to say. Donovan gets a call on her phone. She excuses herself and leaves the table. Hermione places her hand over Lestrade's. He tears away from his food and looks at her. She smiles, "We will find her."  
He tries to smile, but it is like his face muscles would not coordinate. He says, "Yeah."  
"Did you and Molly know each other long?"  
He smiles crookedly, "Yes. I did no ask her out till my divorce got finalised."  
"Sherlock told me about…"  
"Yeah. If he did not fake kill himself, we would have never fallen in love."  
"And you are welcome Graham," Sherlock says.  
Lestrade nods. Hermione goes quite all of a sudden. She removes her hand. Sally returns to the table. She is reminded of the words Sherlock told her back in the car. The fact that it is bothering her also bothered her.  
Sally says, "Duncan at the office says that Kitty Riley spent two years in Ireland, of all places. She took the name of Katharine Lutz. She was working as a librarian. But that is not the funny part. She ended up in Ireland in a vessel from Dover. She woke up and did not know who see was. She had her wallet with her where it showed she was Katharine Lutz. Then a month and a half ago she left Kilkenny and came back to London, assumed her old identity and went back to her newspaper."  
"What did you say?" Levin asks.  
"What?" Sally asks irritated.  
"Where in Ireland she stayed?"  
"Kilkenny. Why?"  
Hermione gasps, "That is where Moriarty originated from!"  
"I knew it sounded familiar. Mr Potter had me collect information…" Levin says.  
"Where do you work again?" Sally asks.  
"Never you mind," Levin replies in a hard, cold voice.  
"We need all the help we need Sally," Lestrade finally interrupts. Sally shuts up. "Get McHale from the Irish police. We need more info. Maybe Kitty's death is tied up with Molly and Mr Potter's disappearance. We all know how much Moriarty loves breadcrumbs."  
They pay the bill and leave. Lestrade and Donovan decide to head to the Yard and await the ballistics report. Levin, Hermione and Sherlock just stand there on the curb. Hermione says, "Her memory was changed and then restored, as they pleased."  
Levin nods, "That seems to what had happened. The Muggle way may take too long."  
"I can't apparate there. I have never been to Kilkenny," Hermione reminds him.  
"But I have been."  
Hermione nods, "Take us then." She grabs Sherlock's hand and drags him along to the nearest alley. Levin follows.  
Sherlock let her. He wound his fingers through hers. She did not stop him. His skin prickled and his thoughts where taking a strange new turn. Somewhere in him, he appreciated how her hands fit into his.  
Out of sheer habit, she had taken his hand. When she started dragging him along, she knew it was too late to wrench free. And then it got more lately when he entwined his slender, violin-player fingers with hers. Oh hell, whatever.  
She finds an alley. Levin nods and hooks his elbow around hers. They all take a deep breath as their feet get swept off the ground.  
A few seconds later feet find solid ground. They are in at a backyard surrounded by huge stone walls. The late winter snow scrunched under their feet. Late sunshine hits their eyes. Hermione asks, "Sherlock? You okay?"  
Sherlock nods, "Where are we?"  
"The only Wizarding inn in Kilkenny. I lived here when I was on an assignment," Levin replies. He unhooks his elbow and walks inside. The other loitering wizards stop staring and go back on with their lives.  
Hermione entangles her fingers. She says, "Uh—sorry for that." She does not say anything more as she follows Levin inside. She sees him talking to the receptionist. She winds a strand of her behind her ear. Every time she thinks it is okay that she no longer feels what she feels for him it comes back and reminds her that she is still stuck. His words are stuck in her brain. They keep resonating. Why does it though? Why should she feel this way even?  
Her apologising made him angry. He repressed it. Why is he even angry in the first place? He wonders who he is angry with—himself or her. He walks over to join Hermione and Levin. He plunges his hands in his jacket. Goodness it is cold. He sees her looking over her shoulder at him.  
Levin asks, "Say, where is the Muggle police station?"  
"Not too far from here," the receptionist replies. He gives the directions.  
They exit the inn. Levin says, "How are we going to even get the police talk to us, mere civilians? I hope your celebrity reached here."  
Sherlock frowns. Levin explains, "I know how to use the Muggle thing called the internet. I know who you are."  
Hermione smiles. Levin is always full of surprises. Even if she has known him off and on for the last seven years, he still manages to surprise the Golden Trio. Seems like there was nothing he did not know.  
"Let us hope so then," Sherlock mutters.

They were standing in front of the grand mansion-turned-to-special-institution near the edge of the city.  
Sherlock and his fame proved to be helpful when the Inspector on duty recognised him right away. He was only too happy to let Sherlock have a go at the necessary information. He had called up the file on Katharine Lutz.  
Katharine Lutz's arrival was a mystery and her departure was a mystery as well. If her body had not been found in London yesterday, no would have known anything. She worked in the library at the Moriarty Foundation of Further Studies. It was a charitable institution where people from less privileged backgrounds came to do learn important vocational courses.  
When all this got relayed to them, they said their profuse thanks and raced off to the estate.  
So now they stand at the gates of MFFS after an almost two hour drive. Hermione says, "Of all things on earth, an institute!"  
"So is he Robin Hood?" Levin asks.  
"Yes, a darker, crazier version of Robin Hood whose altruism is more deadly than benevolent. He had to channel all the illegal money somewhere, so why not charity?," Sherlock deadpans.  
They walk through the gates. After asking a student, they get to the library. Since it was a Tuesday and classes had ended, a few student lingered, doing their homework or reading. A bushy haired girl in a corner catches her eye. She smiles at the way the girl almost had her nose stuck in her book. Her mind goes back twenty years ago. She shakes her head. If anyone had told her she would, twenty years from then, her life would be like this, she would have laughed and ordered Harry and Ron to finish their own homework. Suddenly, she turns her head and her gaze locks with Sherlock.  
Sherlock was looking around and was about to accompany Levin down the aisle when he realised Hermione was not moving. He came closer and followed her gaze. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she turned her head.  
Her eyes are sad and wistful. Before he can try asking again, she says, "Do you see that girl over there?" She points to the girl reading, completely oblivious to the two people staring at her.  
"Yes," he says.  
"I know it is not the time or hour for reflection, but that was me twenty years ago. Even then I had to fight for Harry and humankind. And now I am still doing that. Life comes a full circle."  
He does not say anything. In a way, they were bound by purpose, by the need to do the right thing. He knows how she feels. She is as petrified as he is, except he keeps that to himself because he is so good at hiding what he feels. He gulps. He extends his hand and entwines his fingers with hers. She does not stop him. She does not stop him either when he pulls her closer, puts his free hand on her neck and brushes a feather-light kiss on her forehead. He stares deeply at her and says, "We will get them back."  
"Umm Miss Granger? Mr Holmes? Where are you?" they hear Levin's voice. Moment broken, he releases her. He whips around and starts walking to the point where Levin and Sherlock branched off to different directions.  
Hermione meekly follows him. She touches the spot where his lips had touched her skin. A grin fights its way on to her face. But it soon gets wiped off when they reach Levin.  
Levin was standing and talking to the head librarian about Lutz by a window when he got interrupted by a huge black owl landing on the window sill. He put a Confundus Charm on the librarian when he spotted the little note tied around the bird's legs. He extracted the note and went away to search for Hermione and Sherlock as the bird took off.  
Levin walks up to them and hands them the note. Sherlock snatches it from his hands. Hermione leans over to read it. "Mr Delacour was a nice gentleman. But alas. Poor doctor, I hope she is not allergic to skeletons," her voice gets quieter by the last line. She has already solved this cryptic message and judging by how Sherlock's hands are shaking, so had he. Only Levin shouts, "What?"

Her eyes pop open. For a brief second she thinks she has gone blind. Then she remembers the last thing that happened to her. Someone hit her on the back of her head. She did not remember anything after that. Now she is trapped in this darkness. She is horizontal on her back. She tries to get up and that is when it hits her. Both literally and figuratively—that she is in a box like thing and two it is not very tall as the bump on her head tells her. Then she smells the old smell of dust and dirt. Oh my God, is her next thought. She knocks on the wood when her hand touches frayed satin. Her heart races and sweat trickles down the side of her temple. It is a coffin. She is trapped in a coffin. She kicks her legs when one of her bare toes touch something cold and smooth. Bone. She is trapped in a coffin with a skeleton. Then she realises she is wearing no warm clothes. She had been stripped off her jacket, sweater and socks. She is trapped in a coffin surrounded by cold earth and no protective clothing. Tears start rolling down her cheek.  
Okay, calm down, she tells herself. She uses her hands to see how big the coffin is. Disappointment and fear crawl in when she realises it is not a very big coffin. Based on size, then she has approximately two hours of air supply. "Oh God," a twisted sob escapes her. She claps down her palm on her mouth. She takes two big gulps of air.  
For a moment calm leaves her as she screams and beats the lid. Unbeknownst to her, the coffin was not of very good quality and her hard knocks had managed to form a crack. She does not see it. "No no no no no!" she screams. This was not how she was going to die.  
Lestrade is the first face she sees in her mind. Oh God, just when she thought she had found love and happiness, she felt she had found the man she could spend her life with, then this happens. The air is still, damp and cold. Goosebumps cover her all over. She curls into a foetal position. Her teeth start chattering. She feels her body temperature dropping. Her extremities feel frozen.  
Then she sheds a tear for her misfortune. But deep down, she knew this from day one, that if Moriarty came back, he would come for her. A gun or a knife was what she was expecting. And she was expecting that maybe Lestrade or Sherlock will be there to save her life. But no, she is trapped in her personal hell and there is nothing she can do about it. The soft sobbing turns into a cry of dismay and helplessness. Now, she cries for her life. And death.  
An hour passes. She is not counting. Somewhere between she had momentarily passed out. Her brain gets slowly depleted of oxygen. She takes short breaths. Now, she sees Sherlock in her mind. God, how much she had loved him once. A bitter laugh escapes from her scratchy throat. She would have done anything for him. She did take a risk. And look where that got her now. Another laugh escapes. But it soon gets transformed into a gurgled cry for help. Then she beats hard on the lid. So hard, that the cheap wood finally breaks.  
She hears it this time. As the soil rushes in, all ready to crush and devour her, she knows it is goodbye. Her heart jumps one last time and darkness descends as the earth takes back what it gave.

"You are a monster!" is what Harry would have shouted if his mouth was untied. He would have punched him if his hands were untied. He stood a silent witness as they opened the coffin and lowered her in. Then Marianne suggested the strip off her winter wear. Her sadistic pleasure made the bile rise from his gut.  
Then the coffin was lowered and the earth put back on the dug—out hole. He knew Dr Hooper for a few hours but he felt helpless he could not help her. His knees hit the frozen earth and he silently screams.  
When finally the work is done, Blaise pulls Harry up and snarls, "Now it is your turn." Harry gets pushed down again. His knees hit the ground hard.  
Moriarty says, "I heard you survived all three Unforgivable Curses. Is it true?"  
"Why don't we find out? Crucio!" Blaise cries.  
Harry's vision blurs and his heart gets squeezed. He does not cry. He lowers his head. He has had practice.  
"Ooh! What if we double it?" Marianne suggests, "Crucio!" Blaise's curse gets joined by hers.  
Harry would have screamed if his mouth was untied. Whatever he was feeling was doubled now. He feels pain he has never felt before. His lungs fight, his heart clutches tighter and tighter in the phantom iron grip. He falls sideways. He cannot hold anymore. He embraces the blessed serenity of unconscious.  
When he finally faints, Moriarty says, "Put him back in the apartment."  
"Why?" Marianne asks.  
"A belated birthday gift for Sherlock Holmes."


	24. Chapter 24

Harry does not know how long he was unconscious. But when he came to consciousness, everything still hurt. And he sees Hermione kneeling over him. She says, "Oh Harry."  
If she could, she would take Harry to a hospital right now. But she is waiting for Levin to come back.  
The three of them had apparated to Fifth Latin Arrondissement. Since none of them had ever been to Montmartre Cemetery, Sherlock suggested to get to the Latin Arrondissement first. Then they would take a cab from there. When Levin protested about money, Hermione suggested confusion. Except when they got here, the flat door was wide open and when they stepped in, they saw a very hurt Harry on the ground. Plan changed to Levin and Sherlock going over to the cemetery and Hermione will wait until Levin apparates back for her. He takes her there and then he comes back for Harry and takes him home. Or hospital.  
She strokes Harry's forehead. She takes stock. He had a non-serious injury on the back of his head, badly scraped knees judging by the amount of blood that had seeped through the denim and he was most definitely attacked by the Cruciatus Curse. She violently curses Moriarty and co.  
Levin appears after a few minutes. He says, "Come on. I think Sherlock needs you."  
Hermione just frowns but takes Levin's elbow. Together they apparate to Montmartre Cemetery, the last resting place of Dahlia Delacour's beloved husband.  
When they get there, she means by what Levin meant. She tells him, "Go take care of Harry please."  
He nods once before apparating.  
She walks over to where Sherlock is standing. He is looking at the grave of Jacques Delacour. His face is frozen. No emotions at all. She clutches his jacket sleeve. She whispers, "Sherlock?"  
"Can you raise the earth?" he says in a flat tone.  
Hermione nods and waves her wand. The earth slowly rises. Then they see her. Sherlock wordlessly jumps in the hole and picks up the cold remains of Molly Hooper. He swipes a loose lock of limp brown hair off her face. His gentleness stabs Hermione's heart. He looks at her. He says, "I—I don't think I can carry her over. Will you help?"  
"Wingardium Leviosa," she mutters. Molly's body flies off his arms and lands softly beside Hermione. Her wand hand drops to her side. She kneels down. She mutters, "If we had not killed time at Kilkenny…"  
"He knew we would waste time there. Otherwise he would not have send his owl there," he says quietly. He climbs out of the hole. She stands up and tries to reach to him but falls back when he says, "We need to call Lestrade."  
She nods as he walks away a few feet away and dials a number on his phone. She wonders what will happen next to Sherlock.

It was a right royal mess. From the slightly modified story told to Lestrade, which made her feel so much guilt, to the way Lestrade broke down when Molly's body arrived in London. Hermione cried then and there. It was all too much to bear.  
The funeral was going to take place on the nineteenth of January. Today is the eighteenth. She is headed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries to check on Harry. Levin had safely transported his boss to London where he was immediately admitted to the hospital. Harry had been unconscious mostly but today, in the afternoon, he woke up.  
She hugs Ginny first, who looked as if life had flown back into her. Ginny says, "Levin told me what happened, though I am pretty sure he edited a lot. But…is it true that Sherlock's friend died?"  
"Yes," Hermione exhales. Sherlock's reaction to it was a bit confusing. She knew he was not like others but it made her confused why he was not mourning. It had been five days. He should, judged by everything that happened previously. "So how is Harry?"  
"He is great, come on in," Ginny pushes the door open. A smiling Harry greets her. She smiles back in relief. "Thank you Hermione."  
Neither Harry nor Hermione mention the incident. Neither had the energy or the mental strength to discuss it. Even though Harry considered telling Hermione whatever Moriarty had told him. But he decides to do so later, not in Ginny's presence.  
After a few more pleasantries and promises of dinner, Hermione takes leave. She is glad that Harry was alive, but it tore her inside apart that she was too late to save Molly. She hears the patter of rain outside. "Damn it," she mutters when she realises that she did not have an umbrella with her.  
"Hermione?" someone says behind her. She turns around. Her face breaks into a huge grin. It is Draco. And Scorpius, in a sling.  
"Hello," she says, "What happened to you Scorpius?"  
Scorpius smiles, "I was trying out my new broom."  
"Then he thought he was Viktor Krum and fell off it, broke his hand," Draco mockingly chastises.  
Hermione laughs, "They start so young!"  
"So what are you doing here?"  
"Ah, Harry is admitted here."  
"Why? Is he okay?"  
"Uh," Hermione hesitates. She throws a cautious glance at Scorpius.  
Draco figures it out, "Say Scor, you want ice cream?" Scorpius only gladly agrees, "Ask Hermione if she would like to join us."  
She narrows her eyes. She might have been able to resist Draco but when Malfoy junior looked at her with that impish grin and sparkly grey eyes and said, "Miss Hermione would you like to join me and dad for an ice cream?"  
She said yes.

"I am sorry I had to blackmail you with my son, but I really needed to talk to you," Draco says as they enter an ice cream parlour. Scorpius runs ahead to look at the ice cream selection on display. "Is Harry hurt because of Blaise?"  
Hermione sits down on a barstool, looking out the window. It was still raining outside. Draco, sits beside her. He asks, "Hermione? Am I right?"  
She nods and bites her lips. Draco rubs his face. She hears him softly curse under his breath. At an urgent "Dad!" he turns around. He asks her, "Vanilla?"  
Hermione gets surprised, "How do you know?"  
Draco starts blushing. He nods and joins his son. Then it hits her. Right, at that Ministry party, she had vanilla ice cream for dessert and after the intense flirtation that ensued during dinner, she had pushed him against a wall and kissed him. He remembered how she tasted like. What. She starts blushing herself. Amazing, real amazing. She runs a finger through her hair.  
She turns around and smiles. Father and son had their heads bowed. It seemed like they were engrossed in a serious discussion. Scorpius turns around and asks her, "Would you like chocolate sauce over your ice cream?"  
She nods. He is such an adorable little kid. He was an exact copy of her father. Except he was being raised up differently. No blood prejudices, no snobbishness being spoon fed to him. All in all, she feels glad that Draco had finally did something that is right.  
The duo comes over and places the bowls on the table. Draco picks up Scorpius and grunting, places him on the seat. She laughs. "And he weighed nothing a few years ago," Draco laughs.  
They silently enjoy their ice cream for a while and appreciate the relentless deluge outside. Then Scorpius asks, between mouthfuls of chocolate ice cream, "Her-Hermione? Is it true you punched dad when you were in school?"  
Draco chokes as Hermione starts to giggle. Draco asks, "Who told you?"  
"Grandma told me."  
"Well," Hermione says, "You see Scorpius, you dad was a cockroach…"  
They were laughing, eating ice cream and they were completely oblivious to the curly haired man outside, scowling through the rain.

Sherlock wanted to go out and smoke. So he did. He donned his coat, grabbed his secret stash of cigarettes and went out. He did not know this urgent need to run, maybe he was running from the shadows of guilt and remorse. The four walls of his room were suffocating him. So he went out. Then it started raining. He did not mind the cold.  
He went till Regent's Park when it started to rain. His feet took him along to Wigmore Street. There at the junction, he went along to Oxford Street.  
Oxford Street is lightly crowded. Most people were either walking steadily under umbrellas or those unfortunate enough to be without umbrellas were running hither. And some were standing under the security of porches. The rain had completely soaked him. He decides to take some shelter. He goes and stands under the hood of an upholstery shop. He ruffles his hair, the curls had plastered on his forehead. Suddenly he sees something in his periphery. He looks up straight and a grimaces graces his face.  
Hermione and Draco were seated in the ice cream parlour opposite him. There is also a child sitting between them. Probably his son. He did not come across his son when they stayed over at the Malfoy manor. He clenches his fist. A visceral rage fills him for a fleeting moment. Then he gets reminded he does not deserve to be angry. His jaw tightens. He loosens it and channels his fury into pushing hands in his pocket and gets out from under the shade. He heads into the torrent and starts walking away. At least, the shadows do not make him feel helpless and lost.

Hermione gets home somewhere after five or so. Draco insisted to drop her home. Since Scorpius was underage, he had taken his car to town. The rain had stopped an hour before. When she gets down from the car, she, as if by fate, looks up. Her breath gets caught in her throat. Sherlock is staring down at her from his window. And he does not look happy.  
She decides to go over. She has not really talked to him since yesterday. Well if responding in monosyllables is considered as 'talking'. She walks upstairs. The door is open. She walks in. The room is in a mess. His Belstaf coat is bunched up on the floor, near the door. She picks it up. It is wet. He went out without an umbrella? She frowns. She looks up, he is standing near the window, his gaze piercing through her. His grey shirt is unbuttoned and clinging to his skin. His curls fall limp across his forehead.  
She walks further in. She says, "You went outside without an umbrella? Sherlock!"  
He flatly says, his voice cold and distant, "So?"  
She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. She puts the coat on the coat stand. She murmurs a drying spell. She turns around and points the wand at Sherlock. His hair and clothes dry in an instant. She then starts a fire in the fireplace. She closes the door and puts her coat on the stand as well. She walks into the kitchen, very much aware that his eyes are following her every move. She fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. She then readies all the necessary accessories for tea. She asks, "Did you have anything to eat?"  
When she is answered by more silence, she searches for biscuits. She puts a few on a saucer. He is strange and he has behaved strange to her plenty but this was new. An involuntary shudder passes through her. She blames the cold air in the room. The air feels tight, anticlimactic even. Like the calm before a storm. She anticipates what he might do next. But he is Sherlock Holmes, he is anything but predicable.  
The kettle whistles. She divides the hot water in two cups. She puts everything on the tray and moves out of the kitchen. She sees that he has moved and now he lay horizontal on his sofa. She clears her throat. He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. He sits up, his now dried shirt still on him. She places the tray on the coffee table. She decides to sit down on the floor. The room is sufficiently warm now. She braces her back on the sofa and takes her cup. She keeps constant vigilance on him out of the corner of her eyes. He still does not move.  
Then, to her relief and an eternity later (it felt like that to her), he grabs his cup. He brings the cup to his mouth. He takes a sip and says, "I saw you with Draco and his son."  
"I met him at St Mungo's. He wanted to talk to me. So we decided to go over at Oxford Street," she says in a controlled voice but her mind is racing. Surely he cannot be angry about that! Oxford Street is not that far from Baker Street.  
"Oh."  
She turns to looks at him. "Oh""? Whatever was that for? She asks, "Are you okay?"  
She sees a muscle twitch on his face. His knuckles get whiter as he grips the cup too hard. She places her cup on the floor and climbs on to the sofa. She puts her hand over his and slowly unclasps it from around the cup. She puts it out of his reach. She covers his hands with hers and says, "Sherlock, please."  
He looks at her and her silent plea in her eyes. He mutters, "Please?"  
"Yes. I know you don't do emotion but you are still human. And the number one thing with humanity is, we can think, and hence we feel. And I know you feel, even if you believe you don't," she says.  
He wants to push her aside and leave home again. But he stays. She make him stay, her concern cements him here. The air in his lungs choke. He cannot break. Caring is not an advantage. "All hearts get broken in the end."  
He whispers, "It is my fault."  
Just what she feared. She says, "No, Sherlo—"  
He stands up abruptly and starts pacing. He shouts, "Not my fault? It is all my fault! I did not save her! I failed! She died because we were late! We were chasing red herrings! Do you know why they killed Riley?"  
She too stands up and says, ""I know! They killed her to distract us! They wanted to kill Molly and they would have anyway, with or without killing Kitty. So how is this your fault?"  
He bows his head and in a very quiet voice, says, "Molly Hoper loved me and saved my life. So how is this not my fault?"  
She takes a deep, ragged breath. His shoulders start shaking. Her heart constricts. She walks up to him and places her palm flat on his cheek. It was wet. She swipes her thumb over his cheekbone. He locks his gaze with her. His blue eyes, watery and hurtful. He whispers, "Why do people keep leaving me?"  
She does not reply. He wanted to do this—bare his soul—and she was not going to ruin it. He continues, "I keep losing people in my life faster than I find them. Even you."  
She frowns. He says, "I think one day you will let Draco in and move in that enormous house of his."  
She shakes her head, "No, I won't." Or rather she does not know.  
He grabs her wrist and tries to pull her hand away. She relents. She grabs his face with both her hands and stretches to her full height. With some force she says, "Sherlock Holmes, you are a brilliant man. You have a brilliant mind and a good heart. You may hide behind arrogance and that ego of yours, but don't you dare lie. I know how much you are upset. You loved her in your own way," she figured this out now, "She did not die in vain. She was loved by everybody she knew. I didn't know her for long, but if I got a few more months, I would have possibly loved her as well, she was lovely. So mourn Sherlock. Mourn the loss of your friend and saviour. You are, too, human. Showing emotions is never a weakness."  
"Caring is not an advantage," he mutters.  
She rolls her eyes, "I don't know if arrogant pricks have manuals but you got to throw that away, because caring is neither a disadvantage. And stop being a hypocrite. If you did not care would you have jumped off that ledge that day? Save all their lives? No. So tell me again why caring is such a disadvantage."  
"I do," he says it so softly that firstly she thinks she imagined it. Then the tears spill. She throws her hands around him. His knees buckle and he wobbles. She coerces them both to an awkward sitting position on the floor. She does not say anything as Sherlock Holmes finally mourns his loss.  
She broke him. Everything that was, broke. He let himself feel. And unlike what he knew and thought, he did not feel ashamed or exposed in front of her. He feels vulnerable but released. He welcomes the shadows and they engulf him. Instead of hurting him, they are amazingly comforting. Her warmth and compassion wraps around him, he feel secure enough. So he mourns his loss.

Five hours later, Hermione is curled up in her bed, wide awake. She is going over the day in her head. It was, for a lack of a better word, eventful. She did not know how long they were like that on the floor, but when he stopped, she forcefully dragged him downstairs, made him dinner, threatened spoon feeding when he was adamant and coaxed him to stay in her apartment for the night. No way was she leaving him alone. She remembers what John said to her before she left for St Mungo's. He had came to check on his friend and was leaving, all anxious.  
"He has had an extensive history of drug abuse. Since he does not process emotions like I and you would do. Take care of him please. He nearly kicked me out."  
Rose had managed to distract him further when she started asking questions about a detective means and does. She was grateful to her daughter. They talked for hours. She finally had to tear the two apart and order Rose to go to bed. She also had to order Sherlock. Then she fixed he sofa with pillows and a duvet.  
Suddenly she hears a soft knock on her door. She sits up, her heart pounding. She is pretty sure who that is. She says, "Come in."  
Sherlock enters. He goes over and sits at the edge of her bed. He smirks, "Just as I knew, more books here as well."  
"I have a book problem," she laughs softly, "The sofa too uncomfortable?"  
"No. That is not it. I came to, uh," he scratches his neck.  
"You what?" she shifts so she is closer to him.  
"Thank you Hermione."  
She smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to look at her. They were too close. He leans forward, an invisible hand pulling him towards her.  
She says, "You are welcome. Sherlock?"  
"Mm?"  
"Do you want to kiss me?"  
"I should say no, but I want to say yes."  
"Good."  
She presses her lips against his. He places her hand on her neck and turns his head sideways. He seals his mouth over hers, his tongue searching, soothing and exciting her all at once. She winds her fingers deeper into his hair, her excitement rising when his other hand finds her skin under her t-shirt.  
He growled when she gently nipped at his lower lip. By now he knew she really liked his lips, and doing that. It was great, to be honest. He placed his hands on her waist and pushed aside the fabric. He finds her bare skin—soft, smooth and hot. He wants to push her on to the bed and maybe touch her more. But all of a sudden, he finds that thought scary. This is new.  
She wishes his hands would go higher. The kissing was great and it was enough to set her on fire, if that was possible. But then she realises that his hands were no longer moving. She breaks the kiss. She says, "Sherlock?"  
He looks at her, his eyes wide and scared, "Hermione, I don't think I should do this."  
She finally understands. He is a virgin. And she is probably the first woman he had any sexual (and maybe romantic? No no, he does not do all that, does he? A tiny voice asks her for hope) desire for (did Irene Adler count? The tiny, nagging voice asks). He needs time. And she will wait.  
While Hermione was having all these revelations, Sherlock fathoms her thought process. She is smart enough to realise by now that one, he never had this intense of a desire for anyone and two, he can tell she was prepared to wait, ready for him to come to her, whenever that happens. He gulps. He says, "Hermione?" he cups her cheek, "Don't. I am not worth the wait."  
She frowns, her eyes sad, "Because you feel you aren't enough to be any worth to me?"  
"Yes." He tries to stand up to leave when she grabs his hands and says, "No stay. The sofa is too short for you. I promise I will not do anything. This bed is big enough."  
She smiles at him. She releases his hands and slouches over to her side and lies down. Her heart is still racing and her lips tingled. She feels the bed move. He lies down. She hears him breathing. Faster, then slower. He is trying to calm down as well.  
She sighs. If there was a way she could make him see.

"You didn't let me kill them!" Blaise shouts at Jim, "Why?"  
"For the last fucking time, I have a plan!" Jim shouts back.  
"Oh yeah? You the only one who got a problem? They are my problem too! And yet you get to play!"  
"Shut up!"  
"What are you getting at?"  
"I said I will let you know!"  
"Guys!" Marianne gets in between them.  
They cool down. Blaise looks up at Jim, who glares. Jim rubs his face. He nods his head at Marianne. She goes inside her room. He follows her.  
Blaise punches the wall.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock wakes up with a start. It is his phone ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out and squints at it. It is Mycroft. He rolls his eyes once. He picks it up. Mycroft speaks, "Dear brother, would you be considerate enough to pick me up from the hospital. I have been invited to the, ahem, funeral."  
Funeral? Oh right. It is today. He rubs his face. He says, "Okay." He disconnects the phone.  
He turns his head around. Hermione is not here. He touches her pillow. It is still kind of warm. She did not wake up that long. Kitchen then.

Hermione woke up around seven. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times. As the memories of last night come back into focus, a tiny smile played on her lips. She touched them and turned her head sideways. Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully. God, she thought as the early morning rays fell on his face, he is beautiful. And a little odd but wonderful too. Only if he knew that. She raised her head and supported it on her hand. With her other hand she softly strokes his cheek. As one finger traced his cheekbone, she giggled to herself, "Mr Zygoma."  
She shook her head and got up from bed. Better get coffee ready. Today is the funeral.  
As she is getting her caffeine fix prepared, Sherlock walks into the kitchen. She turns around and laughs. He frowns, "What?"  
Truth was he looked too endearing with his hair messier than usual and the light scruff on his face. She shakes her head, "Sometimes you are too cute." She turns her attention to making coffee. She misses out on the shy grin he gives.  
"Oh," he says, "Mycroft will go to the funeral, he asked me to pick him up."  
She places a steaming mug in front of him. She asks, "You okay?" He just nods and wraps his fingers around the cup. "Okay. Do you want any breakfast?" Another nod. "Okay."  
At the mention of the funeral, his mind wandered off. He is going to go and say his last goodbyes to Molly. Before regret can fill him again, he feels a warm touch on his shoulder. It is Hermione. She kisses him on top his head and pats him twice. He hears her walk away.  
She rummages through her closet for her sombre black dress. God, where is it? She has felt loss. She knew how helpless it made you feel. And how every single regret you ever had comes haunting back. A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wishes she could help Sherlock more.  
Sherlock sips his coffee. Black with two sugars. He nearly chokes. No one will make any for him down at the morgue. A renewed wave of guilt and grief crashes on him. He takes a few deep breaths. It does not work. The tears roll down his cheek without asking him for permission. Then, he feels hands around him. The soft floral smell tells him it is her.  
Hermione was on the way to her bathroom when she decided to check in on Sherlock. She dropped the dress on the floor when she realised he was crying again. She rushes over and hugs his shoulders, bumping her head against his. He being this upset made her empathetic enough that a few tears of her own run down her cheeks.  
He clasps her arms and sobs rack his entire body. She does not say anything, just holds him and to him it felt like she was holding him tight enough to keep him from falling apart. When the intensity fades a little, she gently says, "We can always not go."  
He rubs his face, "No. We need to."  
"Okay."

Mycroft was retained in the hospital when he had collapsed again and the cause was cranial pressure. Now Hermione and Sherlock were at St Barts and she is keeping a keen eyeon him. She did see how his Adam's apple rose up and down; and how his breathing became laboured when they entered the hospital. He silently makes his way to Mycroft's room. Somewhere between the lift and the corridor, he took her hands in his. She gently squeezed back. She knows he is looking for validation that she will not leave him alone now. And she will not.  
Sherlock knocks on Mycroft's door. Anthea opens it. She smiles, and it gets broader when she sees their joined hands. A deep blush colours Hermione's face at Anthea's broad grin. She moves aside to let them enter.  
Mycroft was already dressed and ready to go. He stands up from his bed when they enter. His eyes, too fall on that unusual anomaly. He raises an eyebrow and Hermione looks up at the ceiling as if the common fake ceiling is the most interesting ever. She knows what they were insinuating at and it just made her awkward because honestly it was not really what they are thinking.  
Sherlock groans, "Oh get over it." Hermione bites down on her lips to stop from the maniacal giggle that wanted to burst out.  
Mycroft smiles "Well. Then, Miss Granger, can you excuse us? I need to talk to my sibling."  
Sherlock grumbles, "She can—"  
"Sherlock it is okay," Hermione says, "I can wait outside." She tugs her hand out and walks out of the room, Anthea following her.  
Mycroft begins, "Seems like you two are quite attached."  
"I guess we are," he already knows where this is going.  
"You know where I am headed."  
"Yes. Redbeard. I know."  
"That and I just want to say two more things. One, I am sorry for your loss. And two, Hermione Granger is good for you, I think."  
His older brother's last word surprises Sherlock too much. His eyes widen and for a moment his brain refuses to function. Then Mycroft adds, "Just be careful brother. I don't want you to…" he could not quite finish what he wanted to say. He walks out of the room.  
Sherlock shakes his head and follows his brother out. His eyes find Hermione, who is near the lift, smiling and talking with Anthea. She smiles and cocks her head to the left. An errant cur escapes from her immaculate bun and falls on her pale, smooth neck. As he gets closer, he thinks how beautiful she looked in her demure black dress and low heels. She hardly had any make-up on, but she glows. His heart skips a beat. He blinks.  
She turns her head to look at Sherlock and Mycroft. Anthea presses the up button and they wait for the lift to arrive. She notices that Sherlock's pupils were dilated and he is blinking too fast. She bypasses Mycroft and stands beside Sherlock. She asks, in a low voice, "What? Is anything the matter? You look like you just solved something."  
Only that my brother is concerned that I might be falling for you, he thinks, but he is wrong, I don't do all that. He says, "Nothing. I am fine. No, I am afraid how Lestrade might react at my presence." This is the half-truth. He _is_ worried about that.

The funeral was solemn. Nearly everybody cried—Hermione, John, Greg, even Sally, and Sherlock wanted to but he did not, instead he grabbed her hands again. At that moment, she realised, having feelings, accepting them makes you strong but hiding them, denying them does not really help you. She put her head on his shoulder.  
The church service was over. More than fifty people attended. As they were all heading towards the burial plot, Hermione spots Harry. She waves him over.  
Harry joins her, Sherlock and John. He says, "I am sorry I could not be of any help."  
Sherlock says, "You don't need to apologise. How are you?"  
"Good."  
John's phone rings. It is Mary. He excuses himself. A man tells them to hurry up. Sherlock says, "John can find us later."  
They walk to the cemetery. They reach just as the coffin was being lowered into the hole.  
When the ceremony gets over, Harry clutches Sherlock's elbow. He says, "Sherlock I need to talk to you."  
Sherlock and Hermione give identical frowns. Harry takes a deep breath and tells everything Moriarty said to him in the car in Paris.  
Hermione's head reels and Sherlock feels the ground slip. He tugs his hand away from her grip and says, "Where is John?"  
As the reason for his urgency hits her, fear pools in her stomach. She swivels her head around, trying to locate John.  
Then Sherlock's message alert rings. Her eyes widen. He takes out the phone. She looks down at it. Unknown number.  
Sherlock opens it.  
"Back to where we began.  
XOXO  
-J.M."

**A/N. DUN DUN DUN.**  
**THE END**  
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**kidding, I will start work on the last part. Till then, a few things:**  
**1. THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO FOLLOWED IT, FAVORITED IT AND REVIEWED IT! YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU AWESOME PEOPLE!**  
**2. I am really sorry for killing Molly but it is was necessary (it made ME upset)**  
**3. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST**  
**4. Sorry to make you suffer, but the third part might come along a little late but it will be uploaded. :)**


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